Gunpowder, Swords and Braids
by SythiaSkyfire
Summary: The pirate ship Tracker is feared by all sailors for its speed, power and deadliness. When Peeta Mellark's ship is attacked by the crew of the Tracker, he has two options- join the crew or die. Life as a pirate is already hard enough, but what about the beautiful yet lethal first mate, Katniss Everdeen? Peeta may just be in over his head...
1. Chapter 1

**I couldn't resist. XD **

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_**Disclaimer: Anthing you recognize, such as characters, I do not own. I don't own the images used in the cover, either, though I did put it together to make the overall cover image. So no suing, please. :) This disclaimer pretains to all the chapters in this story.**_

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Cannons jumped back violently, slamming against their ropes and erupting in plumes of off-white smoke. The seas lapped gently at the hull, a sharp contrast to the violence on deck. The ship across from theirs was old, worn and painted a navy blue so deep it was almost black. The sails snapped and strained against the planks of wood that held them to the ship, and flapping proudly in the midst of the canvas was a pure black flag adorned with a blood-red symbol: the Jolly Roger.

Sailors panicked at the sight of the feared vessel. They flung themselves off their own ship rather than be disposed of by the pirates. Pirates who were, at that very moment, swinging across the gap between ships and alighting sure-footedly on wood and rigging alike. Like a well-oiled machine, they slashed through the larger ship's defenses as they would slash thorough tissue paper. Though tattered, the pirates' clothes were clean and well-taken-care-of, patches slapped onto holes and trouser legs tucked neatly into leather boots. Their swords glinted in the early-morning glow, shiny as newly pressed coins, and the shots from their pistols stunned all those they didn't hit. Their battle cries rang out, hoarse but sure. These were no regular pirates, just as the small but deadly ship was no regular ship.

This was the crew of the Tracker.

The Tracker, feared for its stealth, maneuverability and power. The Tracker, which decimated every ship and harbor it came across. The Tracker, named after the tracker jacker wasps which were the bane of human existence on the mainland. The Tracker, which was, at that moment, sweeping its way around to the other side of the sailors' ship, to finish them off.

Peeta clutched the wood under his fingers, watching the scene with wide eyes and a set jaw. He had been told to stay below decks- he was just the ship's cook, after all, and would only get in the way up above- but he hadn't been able to resist. When everyone else had rushed up the stairs, yelling about the Jolly Roger on the horizon, he had snuck out of the kitchen. And when cannon shots and screams reached his ears, he climbed the stairs and peered at the scene around him. And there he stayed, all the way up to the time the pirates invaded their ship.

Now, he couldn't move. The pirates had all but disposed of the crew, and the remaining sailors were dropping their weapons and backing off, eyes wild with fear. Peeta shrank back down the stairs. Maybe, if he could hide below deck, he would be overlooked and could do something- anything- to help. As long as he wasn't noticed. The metallic scent of blood, steel and gunpowder stung his throat and he almost gagged, calm as the seas were.

Heavy feet tramped back and forth above and rough voices shouted, but Peeta could tell the fighting was over. There were several splashes, presumably as bodies were hauled overboard. He wondered who it was. Was he the only one left not dead or captured?

He shook himself. He couldn't think like that. He had to help however he could. Mind made up, he strode into the kitchen and selected the largest, sharpest butcher knife he could find, along with a barrel lid for a shield. He knew he didn't have a chance against the Tracker, but darn if he was going down without at least trying.

Now the voices from above had changed in tone. They were exclamatory as opposed to fierce. Footsteps tapped across the deck, looping around in circles, as if the pirates were exploring. He could just barely make out some of what they said.

"This one's a beaut'."

"Look at 'er sails- white as summer clouds."

"Must be fresh from the port."

"Just four weeks out, I'd wager."

"Cannons are in good shape."

"Shame we had to shoot at 'er. She'd make a fine Jacker."

"Jacker?"

"Wall, what else'd we name our second ship?"

"Lookie here! The captain's cabin is fancy as all get-out! Glass- and silver!"

"Take it all. The food, too. It's worth every coin."

Peeta was so absorbed in eavesdropping, fascinated yet horrified, he didn't notice the figure creeping up behind him. Then the hair stood up on the back of his neck, and he spun around with a guttural cry, swinging his knife.

"Easy!" shrieked a young, familiar voice. "It's just me! Don't go cutting me to pieces!"

"Rory," Peeta breathed, his heart still racing from the shock.

The cabin boy's eyes were filled to the brim with fear. His brown hair flopped down over his eyes and his arms were bare, sleeves rolled up. He must have been doing some chore when the pirates attacked. He had armed himself with two potato peelers, which made Peeta smile despite the circumstances. "Are you going to skin the alive?" he half-joked.

Rory set his jaw, looking small but determined. "If I have to. Come on, Peeta, let's go up. We can untie the crew! We could get the ship back!"

Peeta ruffled Rory's hair. "Not so fast, Rory. This is the crew of the Tracker we're talking about. We wouldn't get ten feet."

Rory paled. "The Tracker?"

At that moment, a deep voice accompanied the dull thud of heavy boots down the stairs. "I hear voices," the man said.

Another voice answered, "They must be hiding down here."

"We'll find them."

Peeta and Rory looked at each other in horror. The two sets of footsteps drew nearer. A few seconds more and they'd be discovered. Not time to run, no time to hide. The only option was-

"Attack," Rory whispered. Before Peeta could stop him, he charged around the corner, bellowing in his high, not-yet-mature voice and brandishing his potato peelers as if they were rapiers.

Peeta heard one of the men swear, and the other cry out. Then one started laughing, which the deep voice continued to cuss.

Rory kept bellowing things like, "Filthy pirates!" and, "Get off my ship or you'll be sorry!"

Peeta almost smiled again.

Then a third, lighter set of footsteps descended, so quiet that Peeta almost didn't hear them.

"Look at this little pip-squeak," the second voice chuckled. "Quite the spit-fire. Like you." No doubt addressing the third person.

They didn't answer, that Peeta could hear, but suddenly the first voice stopped cussing and the second voice stopped laughing. Rory's threats wavered, his confidence slipping.

"Quiet," snapped a third voice, and Peeta's eyes widened. It was undoubtedly, without question, female. "There's someone here," she said, and Rory started up again.

"No!" he shouted. "No, I'm the only one! There's no one over there!"

Peeta dropped his face into his hand. Way to go, Rory.

And then, without any kind of warning, the butcher knife was slapped form his hand, his arms were twisted behind his back and something thin and cool appeared against his throat. "Don't move," the female voice ordered, jerking his arms so that he had to stand on his tip-toes.

He was dragged out of the shadows and into the light below the stairs. The two men were there already, restraining a beet-red Rory. One was tall, copper-haired and grinning, his sea-green eyes sparkling. The other had hair like Rory's, although stringy and tangled, and a scowl that could have melted glass. He had two nicks on his arm and hand, which looked suspiciously like they were from a potato peeler.

Peeta still couldn't see anything of his captor, except for the silver shine of the knife below his chin, but he heard her voice and the crisp snap of her fingers as she said, "I'll restrain the boy. Haymitch, Finnick, you take _him_." She jostled Peeta on the last word and the blade slipped, just barely cutting into his skin. He held his breath.

The two men, Haymitch and Finnick, apparently, handed off Rory after confiscating his potato peelers. Then they grabbed Peeta by the arms and whirled him around so he faced the girl.

His first impression of her was that she didn't look like a pirate. And yet, she did, too. Her gray eyes shone silvery, like stars, and her dark hair was tied back in one long braid. Her features were defined and very slightly slanted, giving an almost feline look to her face. She wore a thin, elegant sword at her hip- the kind that an Admiral might have- as well as a single pistol. Her black, cotton peasant blouse was drawn in at the waist with a simple belt, and she wore soft-looking brown pants and knee-high boots. A girl wearing pants. Peeta tried not to stare, though it was impossible.

But then, though she wore the attire of a pirate, her stance, balanced and graceful, was that of a noblewoman's. What with that and her cool, collected gaze, she could have been a queen.

She stalked forward, the knife in her hand, and pulled Rory along with her. "So," she said, "I'll make this easy."

The blade was pressed to Rory's neck. He gulped.

"Are there any more of you down here?"

"I don't know," Peeta answered honestly. "But I don't think so."

The girl surveyed him coldly. Peeta stared at the knife on Rory's throat. The knife that could bite into the young, tender flesh with one jerk. The knife that still had a line of his blood it. The knife… that was facing the wrong way. The blade pointed out, towards Peeta. The flat edge touching Rory's skin couldn't possibly do any damage.

Why? Why would the girl make it so Rory's life wouldn't be in any real danger? Why spare him? He wasn't much use to the pirates. He was disposable. Did she even realize?

Peeta was jerked out of his thoughts when the girl lowered the knife and pointed to the copper-haired man. "Finnick," she said. "Go check. Me and Haymitch can handle him."

"Are you sure, Katniss?"

Katniss. So that was her name.

"He looks pretty strong."

"I'm sure."

Peeta was handed over to Haymitch while Finnick left to sweep the place for any more loose sailors. Haymitch kept him in place while the girl- Katniss- tied his hands. Rory stood off to one side, keeping absolutely still under her steely gaze.

"The knife was pointed out," Peeta observed quietly.

Her eyes flashed towards him, but she didn't answer. Just tied off his bonds and stepped back, searching his pockets for any concealed weapons.

"Why?" he asked.

At last she met his gaze, silver eyes locked onto sky blue ones. "No need to spill innocent blood," she said coolly. Then she pushed him up the stairs.

His future was completely unpredictable, if not nonexistent, but one thing was certain: Katniss, female crewmember of the ship The Tracker, was no ordinary pirate.


	2. Chapter 2

Haymitch tied Peeta to the mast, along with the half-dozen other surviving crew members. Then he walked away without a word to nurse the cuts on his arm. Peeta looked around. The deck was drenched in crimson and littered with discarded swords and pistols, which the pirates were slowly and systematically gathering up. The Tracker bobbed alongside the larger ship, silent as always. He felt sick at the sight.

Peeta had always hated pirates. His father, the baker of the town he had grown in up, had told him of the unspeakable acts that pirates committed. They killed without a second thought, lied as a hobby, cheated whenever they could and stole anything and everything they fancied. They were vile, vicious, crude and filthy, the exact opposite of what the Mellark family strived for.

"We are gentlemen," Peeta's father would tell him in that calm, serious, rich voice. "No matter that we live in a poor town. A gentleman would never, ever do those things, so neither will we. We must always strive for honesty and dignity. Understsand?"

And even when Peeta was too young to really understand, he would nod yes.

Honesty. Dignity. These pirates had neither. He watched them pry metal off wood, bicker amongst themselves for some small trinket, spit and swear and belch. He hated them, hated all of them. But- no. Not all. There was the girl.

His eyes swept over the deck, and he thanked God that they hadn't bothered to blindfold him. There she was. Standing at the prow of the ship, silhouetted against the bright morning sky, braid flicked over one shoulder. She was running her fingers over the thick, elaborately carved banister of the bridge, eyes on the curves in the wood. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he could see her lips moving, as if she was talking to herself. Or singing.

"All right, sissies, listen 'ere."

His attention snapped to the pirate addressing the sailors tied to the mast. The man wore a mess of different uniform bits, from all over. A British jacket with shiny bronze buttons over a simple tunic, and the black slacks of a German. His boots and hat appeared to have both been dyed blue, at one point, but wind and salt had worn them mostly back to brown. His eyes were almost hidden under bushy eyebrows, and a scraggly, blonde beard covered his chin and jaw.

"My name is Mr. Undersea."

"Are you the captain?" one of the sailors asked.

Mr. Undersea scowled. "Didn' say Cap'n, did I?"

The seven sailors blinked at him.

"Like I said, my name is Mr. Undersea. Now, all you…" He pointed a scarred finger at them. "You're either useful to us or you die."

_Just like a pirate,_ Peeta thought.

"So, anyone want to join and get it over with? We can use anyone who'll follow orders."

No one said anything.

"No? Anyone want to jump overboard now?" He cut the rope holding them to the mast and waved an arm out towards open sea. "Path's clear."

Three sailors bolted and jumped. Three splashes.

"Right. Now, as for the rest of you, you want to live. Yes?"

They nodded.

"So, why should you? Huh?" He pointed his knife at one of them, someone Peeta couldn't see around the curve of the mast. He leaned forward to see, and grinned when he saw Rory, facing the knife with his best glare. "What about you, pip-squeak?"

"I'll beat you up!" Rory announced shrilly. "I'll push you overboard! You'll be sorry!"

Mr. Undersea looked surprised, and then barked out a laugh. "I like your spirit, boy," he said, then pushed Rory aside and moved on, adding, "You'll make a good pirate in a few years."

Rory looked half appalled and half proud.

The next sailor volunteered himself for piracy, claiming he was good with knives. The one after that spit on Mr. Undersea's bluish boot. He was shot then and there.

Peeta was next. "So," the pirate sneered, eyes sweeping across his flower-dusted outfit. "A chef, huh? Are you any good?"

Peeta considered not answering, or shooting some insulting comment at him, but then he stopped and stood straighter. Honesty. Dignity. "I'm pretty good."

Another pirate, one with shockingly red hair, heard this and walked up to him. "A cook? What do you cook?" He bounced on his toes, like a little kid. "Anything sweet?"

"Well… I was a baker, on land, but there isn't much to bake out here at sea. Mostly I cook fish, and some biscuits, and things with dried fruit."

The red-haired pirate smiled hungrily, showing four missing teeth. "You'll do."

"That'll be my decision, Darius," Mr. Undersea said, shoving him aside. He looked Peeta over one more time. "You'll do," he echoed, and moved on to the last sailor.

"Who says I want to?" he said as his ropes were cut.

"What?" the red-haired pirate, Darius, croaked as he pulled Peeta away from the mast.

"What if I don't want to join your crew?"

Darius guffawed. "Who said anything about _want_?"

Peeta remembered what Mr. Undersea had said. _You're either useful to us or you die._ Well, he wasn't ready to die. And he was, apparently, useful to the pirates. It appeared as if he only had one option.

Peeta and the other two sailors-recruited-to-piracy were marched up the stairs and deposited at the helm. There stood Katniss, facing out to sea, her eyes raised to the sky. Peeta was again struck with the image of Katniss wearing a full, lavish, gold-threaded dress, holding a scepter in one hand and balancing a jewel-studded crown on her head. But, somehow, the worn, simple clothes of a pirate suited her better.

"Miss Everdeen?" their escort said.

She turned, her expression completely blank.

"'Ere 're the new recruits."

"Thank you, Darius," she said. "I'll take it from here."

Darius let go of their arms and shuffled down the stairs. Peeta, Rory and the other sailor exchanged glances.

"What are your names?" she asked them, her voice lacking the sloppy inflections of the other pirates.

"Marcus," the other sailor said. "Marcus Wool."

"Peeta Mellark," Peeta said, holding out his hand.

Katniss looked at his outstretched hand with an unreadable expression on her face. Just when he was about to drop it to his side again, she grasped it in her own. He was struck by how small and delicate her hand was, although calloused.

Then she let go and turned to Rory. "And you?"

"Rory Hawthorne," he squeaked, like a mouse trapped under the piercing, grey gaze of a falcon.

Katniss looked stunned. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open into an O. She clamped her hands down on his shoulders and demanded, "Hawthorne? Did you say Hawthorne?"

"Yes," Rory said, looking to Peeta for help. "Why?"

"Rory, do you happen to have any siblings?"

Rory blinked. "Yeah, a sister and two brothers."

"Older brothers?"

"Yeah, one…"

Katniss's face lit up in a radiant smile. She suddenly grabbed Rory's hand and practically ran down the stairs, disappearing into the captain's and shouting, "Gale! Gale, come look who I found!"

After a moment's hesitation, Peeta and Marcus followed. What they saw once they got to the captain's cabin surprised them more than anything else that day had. Rory was being hugged by a laughing, grinning pirate, who looked almost like he could be Rory's twin, just older. Maybe eighteen, Peeta guessed.

"Rory!" the pirate exclaimed. "Where'd you pop up from?"

"I could ask you the same thing," gasped Rory, staring up at him.

_They're brothers,_ Peeta realized. _They must be._

"You're a pirate?"

"Oh, come on. You say that like it's a bad thing."

Peeta saw Katniss backing up towards the door, pushing him and Marcus with her. "Let's go," she said quietly. "And let them reunite in private."

She half-closed the door and strode away towards the starboard side, where the Tracker bobbed some yards away. Her movements were as fluent and sure as a cat's when she jumped up onto the railing. "Up," she said.

Peeta steadied himself with a breath, grabbed a rope and pulled himself up. In front of him, a stretch of rippling, dark sea came between the two ships. Behind him, pirates swarmed over the deck. Neither side looked like somewhere he wanted to be.

"Swing across," Katniss said, pointing.

Peeta gaped at her. "What?"

"Swing across. I'll follow you." She put a rope in Peeta's hands and gave him a small push that nearly sent him tumbling overboard. "_Now_, rookie; we don't have all day."

He wrapped his hands around the rope. He looked down. He looked up at the Tracker. He took one last breath. And he jumped.

He couldn't force his eyes closed, so all he saw was a blur of blue. Then the rail of the Tracker swung up underneath him. Then the deck. He pried his fingers off the rope and suddenly plummeted, landing on his back. As he struggled to breathe, Marcus landed beside him with a grunt.

"Ow," he said quietly.

"Yeah," Peeta agreed. "Ow."

Katniss glided in like a bird and dropped lightly onto the boards, running a few steps to keep her balance.

"Get up."

She tugged on Peeta's sleeve and he painstakingly got to his feet. When he raised his head, he found himself staring into two glittering, silver eyes. He froze and his gaze flicked down to her lips. For one crazy moment, he wanted to kiss her. But then he put full brakes on that train of thought. Yes, she was beautiful. But they didn't even know each other. _Yet,_ he added.

"You'll be accompanied everywhere by a guard until we know we can trust you," she said suddenly, turning away. "In the meantime, I'll show you the kitchens. You _are_ a cook?"

Peeta nodded.

"Let's go, then." She walked away, and Peeta was left watching her dark braid sway back and forth as she retreated.


	3. Chapter 3

**This chapter is a little shorter. :P Sorry. It just seemed like a good place to end the chapter.**

**Y'all should let me know what you want out of this story in a review if you can, kay? I want to know what you guys want to read, so I know what to write, in general. So if you have time, a review would be great. **

**Thanks! Enjoy!**

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As a whole, the Tracker was a small, clean, and even _cozy_ ship. There were less pirates onboard than there were sailors on most regular ships, which meant more space, more food and more work. But the space and the food made up for the extra hours. Especially the food. The Tracker raided ships of all nationalities, all classes and sizes, so the kitchen was loaded with delicacies. Or, delicacies as far as sea-travel went. Fine mead, barrels of oranges and apples, crates full of live animals to cook on Sundays, flour, sugar, bags of seasoned jerky and cans of preserved fruits and pickled vegetables. And, a cupboard stocked with tea of every kind, jars of honey and jam and small, round cookies. These were reserved for the crewmembers highest up on the ladder- Captain Abernathy, Mr. Undersea and First Mate Everdeen.

When Peeta first found out that Katniss was the First Mate, he choked on his jerky. "What?" he spluttered.

"Yeah," Thresh said. "Rumor is, she came from the same place as the Cap'n did."

Thresh was a tall, dark-skinned gentle giant who had been assigned to follow Peeta around. Actually, he had been assigned to guard Peeta and make sure he didn't sabotage anything. But, tough as he was, he was also a genuinely a nice guy. And Peeta didn't want any trouble. So mostly, he just followed him around and talked to him about the way the ship worked.

"But, yeah. Miss Everdeen is the First Mate. She stays in the cap'n's cabin."

"By herself?"

"Yeah."

Suddenly, Peeta thought of something that made his skin crawl. "Wait, Thresh- is she the only girl on the ship?"

"Only one."

"Shouldn't she have a guard to keep watch outside her room at night?"

Thresh bit off a chunk of jerky and looked at Peeta strangely. "Why?"

"Well- is she's the only girl on board- and this _is_ a pirate ship- isn't she in danger of…" He trailed off, not sure how to say it politely.

"Oh. _Oh._" Thresh shook his head vehemently. "No. The men respect 'er. And if they don't respect 'er, they're at least afraid of 'er. It'll ne'er happen. I'd like to see them try! They'd be dead before they knew what hit them, poor-"

Thresh finished with a word that made Peeta wince. He still wasn't used to so much cussing, even if he _was_ a sailor. _Pirate,_ he reminded himself grudgingly. _You have to be a pirate now, to stay alive._

"Oh," he said at last, not sure what else to say. He wasn't quite convinced, though, and promised himself that he'd keep a lookout for trouble.

Life as a… pirate… turned out to be oddly peaceful. The hammocks hung under the deck were comfortable enough to sleep in. The work was familiar- baking didn't change, navy ship or pirate ship. And, though, people stared at him for being a 'rookie', everyone pretty much left him alone. At dinner, wild stories and rumors flew between crewmembers like pebbles launched from a slingshot. Tales of sea dragons and supernatural forces and great pirates of history. But the stories that fascinated Peeta the most were the ones about mermaids.

"Most beautiful creatures in this world, they say," Finnick would proclaim, shoveling food into his mouth. "They- say, this is really good, Peeta- they have long hair, all of them, and eyes like jewels."

Peeta glanced at Katniss, who was eating silently in her own little corner. Her hair, woven into its usual braid, shone with golden highlights from the lamps. Her eyes, so much like that precious metal, were fixed steadily on a point in space somewhere over the table.

"They're tough, too. You threaten a mermaid and you'll be drowned before you can blink. But, if you're nice to them, they're awful flirts. Good luck getting a kiss from one, though. No one's ever gotten a kiss from a mermaid. That's why I'll be the first. I swear, I will."

Everyone rolled their eyes at Finnick's story. No one really believed it, but everyone loved to listen.

He finished with, "And if you ever hear a mermaid singing, you may as well just sign your will. Their voices are so lovely that you'll either jump into the ocean, or go mad thinking of it for the rest of your life. You'll be a goner."

"Sure, Finnick," Thresh chuckled.

Dinner ended and Captain Abernathy stomped in, followed by Mr. Undersea.

"Who…" he drawled, thinking hard with his head tipped to the side. A bottle hung from his fingers. "Who's… first?"

Mr. Undersea sighed. "He means, who has first watch tonight?"

"We do," Thresh said, thumping Peeta on the back so hard he almost choked again.

"G'on, then." Haymitch saluted them drunkenly, then turned and walked directly into the doorframe. The crew held in their laughter. Haymitch was always drunk. Except when the Tracker raided a ship or port. Then, as Peeta had heard, he morphed into a cunning, quick, bloodthirsty pirate worthy of the title Captain of the Tracker. During down time, though, Mr. Undersea functioned as the captain of the ship and Haymitch doused himself in liquor.

Peeta checked off things on his mental list before getting up: Thresh was beside him, finishing off a dry biscuit, Rory was okay, sitting next to his long-lost brother, Katniss was silent and… gone… Huh. He hadn't seen her leave.

Thresh stood up, motioning for Peeta to do the same, and together they headed up onto the deck and started climbing into the rigging. Peeta had to stop frequently, clutching the ropes with his eyes screwed shut. The tossing mast made him sick on the calmest day. Once they finally made it to the top, Thresh turned around to say something.

But before he could start his sentence, Peeta shushed him. He heard something. Singing. He looked up. There, perched in the crow's nest, was Katniss. She looked perfectly at ease, way up in the swaying mast. The salty evening wind stirred the curls of hair that had escaped her braid.

"Down in the valley,

The valley so low."

Peeta's eyes widened. He recognized the song.

"Hang your head over,

Hear the wind blow."

Katniss kept singing, Peeta and Thresh clung to the rigging below, transfixed, and everything else grew quiet. The wind all but disappeared, the sea birds stopped their squawking and the sea calmed to tiny waves. Her woolen red plaid cape fluttered around her knees like a skirt, and her face was alight with the light of the sunset and with her smile.

Katniss may not have been a mermaid, but in that moment, Peeta knew he was a goner. He was in love with the singing girl- the girl who's voice was so sweet that even the sea stopped to listen.

"Roses love sunshine, violets love dew,

Angels in Heaven know I love you,

Know I love you, dear, know I love you,

Angels in Heaven know I love you."


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm really enjoying writing this story. Are you guys enjoying reading it? I hope so. :)**

**Happy "end of the world" tomorrow! I kid, I kid...**

**As usual, if you have any requests or suggestions on what should happen, let me know in a review!**

**Enjoy!**

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The next few weeks were torture. The weather was fine, the food was still in plentiful supply, the nights were quiet and the days were a happy, bustling kind of busy that came with the preparation for another raid. And Peeta couldn't get Katniss off his mind.

Her song kept going through his head, over and over. He kept seeing her, perched in the crow's next with her knees bent slightly and her boots resting on the rigging, cloak spread out around her, braid almost coming loose in the wind. Her silver eyes shone so brightly, and her lips looked so red, rose red, and probably soft, too-

_Stop_. Peeta punched a roll of sticky dough that was about to be made into biscuits. _This isn't helping. Plus, what chance do I have with her? She's the First Mate, and beautiful, and strong and smart and a good singer on top of it all… I'm just the ship's cook. Why would she ever want me?_ Still, a large part of his mind wouldn't give up the hope that someday, maybe… just maybe, Katniss Everdeen would be his.

The tempest hit the Tracker one week before the raid. Peeta had thought, up until then, that he had his sea legs. But when the ocean rolled and frothed in waves as tall as ten church towers on top of each other, his breakfast (and lunch, and dinner) made a reappearance. It wasn't his first time in a storm at sea, either. He had faced plenty of storms on his old ship. But his wasn't any ordinary storm- this was a hurricane. Wrath of the gods, nature at its most powerful. Whatever you call it, he hated it. Plus, the Tracker was so small- effective and quick, but small- that the waves tossed it around like a cork.

Everyone was miserable. "Captain" Abernanthy bellowed drunkenly at everyone who so much as made eye contact with him, his soaked hair hanging down over his eyes and giving him the look of a drowned rat. Mr. Undersea stomped around as if trying to break the boards under his feet. Finnick resignedly poured water out of his hat every few minutes. Peeta sneezed and coughed and shivered below decks, seasick and struck with a nasty cold on top of it.

He couldn't help but to feel guilty- everyone else, even Rory, sometimes, was up in the rigging, battling the winds and giving everything they had to keep the vessel afloat, while he was hunkered down in the corner of the kitchen, halfheartedly nibbling on a slice of dried apple. _What a wuss,_ he reprimanded himself. _You're not doing anything to help the ship._ But what could he do? Any time he went up the stairs, he was doused in foul, salty sea water, bumped into by the crew, thrown to the deck by the rocking and generally just causing more trouble than help. So, he stayed below, gloomy and cold.

Katniss seemed to be the only one who wasn't completely depressed. Whenever Peeta caught a glimpse of her, on deck or slogging down the stairs after a day of getting repeatedly soaked, there was the slightest smile on her face. She never complained at meals about the worse-than-average food that was served, because nothing could be cooked well in such wet conditions. Everyone else grumbled about the dinner or the storm, sometimes casting Peeta dirty looks, but Katniss just wolfed down her food and flew back up the stairs, wringing out her braid as she went. Peeta didn't understand it. How could she be in better spirits now than when he first came on board?

On the third day of the storm, Peeta gave up trying to dry off his clothes by the oven. The air seemed clogged with moisture, even down below decks where the waves didn't reach- most of the time. His cold had gotten worse, and he had to constantly carry around handkerchiefs just so that he could breathe through his nose. And the sneezing was getting ridiculous.

Once, Finncik stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen, practically begging for a cup of something hot. Peeta fixed two cups of tea, and they sat next to the oven, trying to steal its warmth. Peeta sneezed. Again.

"You really should see Miss Everdeen," Finnick said concernedly.

Peeta looked up from his tea, thoroughly confused. "What?"

"For your cold."

He blinked. "Huh?"

"Miss Everdeen," Finnick explained patiently. "The First Mate. She's also the ship's healer. No one knows where she leaned it, and she hates dealing with wounds, but she's the best healer on board, so…" He shrugged. "She'll probably have something for your cold."

Peeta considered this. It would be nice to get rid of the cold. And, of course he wanted to see Katniss. But, somehow, he never knew what to say around her. His silver tongue flew right out the window. He didn't want to make a fool out of himself. Still…

"So, if I wanted to see… um, the healer, to get rid of my cold, what would I do?"

"Just stop by the Captain's cabin and see if she's in there. That's what everyone does- as long as it's before sunset."

"Sunset?"

"She gets pretty violent if someone disturbs her sleep."

"Ah."

He let it drop- or, rather, forced Finnick to drop it by suddenly becoming deaf to his questions- and both of them finished their tea mutely. Finnick dashed back up the stairs, and Peeta sneezed before following him. Rain lashed his cheeks, stinging them with a thousand tiny drops of ice cold water that felt like shards of shrapnel. Shouts and curses filled his ears as he ran for cover, slipping on the slick boards and skidding to a halt right in front of the doors to the Captain's cabin. The doors were oak- at least five inches thick, with sturdy iron hinges and doorknobs, and carvings of vines, flowers, dolphins and mermaids winding all over. They fit the doorframe perfectly. No way any water would be getting in.

Peeta raised his fist, lost his nerve, turned away, turned back, raised his fist again and knocked. He waited, but there was no response. Maybe the storm was too loud for her to hear… or maybe she was still up in the rigging somewhere, helping to keep the ship on course. Or, maybe she was even at the helm.

Just as he was about to walk away, the doors swung open, nearly knocking him over in the suddenness of the movement, and there stood Katniss. All Peeta could do was gape. Her hair was down, swept over her shoulders in a glossy chestnut curtain. She wore soft, loose clothing tied at the hem, neckline and cuffs with thick, tasseled strings. Pajamas. A rich blanket had been pulled around her shoulders, and she clutched a steaming earthenware cup in her slender fingers.

Peeta realized that he hadn't said anything yet, and that one of her eyebrows was raised. "Um, I- I've got- I think-" he said haltingly, not at all sure how to proceed. "Mr. Odair said I should come down here- for my cold. I've… got a cold."

"Oh." She stood back, all at once looking almost bored, and waved him in. "Come in, then."

He ducked his head as he went past, mentally kicking his own shin. _I'd better not make a fool of myself here,_ he thought as she closed the door, _or I might just jump overboard. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry this one's a little short. I promise there are more K/P moments coming up in the next few chapters.**

**Enjoy, my lovely readers!**

* * *

Katniss swiftly closed the door behind Peeta, muting the shouts and roaring crashes of the waves outside. The temperature inside the Captain's cabin was considerably higher than outside, or even below the deck. In one wall, a fireplace blazed with light and heat, flames twisting around each other and shooting up the chimney in brilliant gold and orange ribbons. Rich, velvety red fabric covered the seat cushions and silver goblets rested on the desk near the back windows. The whole place radiated power and riches. Just like the rest of the Tracker.

Katniss pointed to a low couch in front of the fire and snapped, "Sit."

Peeta sat down, rubbing his hands over his knees uncomfortably. In the evening, with the storm masking the skies, it was dark indoors. The fire and the few candles on the desk were the only sources of light. Katniss seemed to know her way around, though, and flitted around the room gathering things into her arms without bumping into anything. As she picked something out of a drawer, Peeta surreptitiously looked around. He couldn't make much out besides the fireplace, the couch, the desk and the doors, but he thought he saw a curtain hung up in the corner, maybe hiding a bed. Lightning whipped across the clouds outside and for an instant the room was lit up in blue light.

Peeta didn't realize that Katniss had perched on the edge of the cushion beside him until she said, "Symptoms?"

"Sore throat, stuffed up nose, coughing, sneezing," he listed, feeling like he shouldn't be sitting in this luxurious room with a drippy nose. What if Katniss caught the cold? That would be a great way for her to remember him. The guy who got her sick.

"Lethargy?"

"What?" he asked, snapped out of his thoughts.

"Do you feel tired?" she asked dryly, sounding a little tired herself.

"Oh. Sort of."

Katniss nodded and reached for something on the table, then turned back to him holding another earthenware cup. She handed it to him, saying, "Drink." It seemed she was back to one-word sentences.

Peeta drank the fragrant, sweet drink while Katniss wrapped up herbs in thin cloths and checked his temperature with the back of her hand, like his mother used to do when he was very small. Except, instead of laying her hand on his forehead, she pressed it against his neck. He hoped she couldn't feel his pulse speed up. Her hand left a very faint pine scent on his skin.

"Boil some water and make this into tea whenever you can- at least twice a day. That should help with the sore throat," she instructed, handing him small cloth packets filled with leaves. "Use some honey in the tea, too. Other than that, there's not much you can do besides wait it out."

"All right." Peeta stood up, half relieved that the audience was over and half disappointed. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Katniss said, but there was no real emotion behind her voice. Her eyes looked distant. Peeta's shoulders slumped a fraction of an inch. No, she definitely didn't care for him. He was just another sailor- _pirate_- coming in to complain about an illness. Why had he thought she would see him as anything else?

Katniss was perceptive. She frowned slightly and asked, "What?"

"Huh?"

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing."

She raised an eyebrow and set one hand on her hip. "Yeah, sure."

"It's nothing _important_, then."

"If it wasn't important, you wouldn't be worried about it."

"Look, why do you care?"

Katniss blinked. Her hand slid off her hip and hung loosely by her side for a moment before she scowled and crossed her arms. "I don't," she said, but her voice wavered on the last syllable. Then she cleared her throat, as if that was what had caused the waver, and said, "I don't. I was just curious, because you had a weird look on your face." She tugged on the doorknob and then knocked the door open with her hip. "Good night."

Peeta contemplated saying something else, trying to explain, but in the end he just walked out with a mumbled, "Good night, Katniss," and trudged back to the kitchen. He only realized a few minutes later that he had accidentally called her Katniss instead of Miss Everdeen. Everyone called her Miss Everdeen. It was the right, respectful way to call her, since she was a lady, and the First Mate. Would she think he was disrespectful now?

He flopped into his hammock with a sigh. _I think too much,_ he decided. _This is probably really very simple; I just can't see it because I'm over thinking it._

With that in mind, he listened to the howling, snarling storm as he tried to get to sleep. Tomorrow he would talk to her again and see how it went. No over thinking it. Maybe he could find out what she really meant when she said, "I don't."


	6. Chapter 6

**SO. If you guys have any suggestions as to what you want to happen in the story, feel free to post it in a review. Kay? Good!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The raid started just as abruptly as the storm ended. Peeta spent the duration of the short battle pressed up against the wall of the stairs, frozen with wide eyes, exactly like the last time. Except now he was on the Tracker- offensive instead of defensive… pirate instead of sailor.

No one even bothered trying to assign him a task to complete as part of the raid. In fact, four different people- Katniss, Mr. Undersea, Finnick and Thresh- told him straight up to just stay out of the way. So, he flattened himself on the banister, next to a trembling Rory, and watched. It was different on this side of the battle. And, yet, very much the same. Peeta still stood stock-still in fear, but he was not the one being attacked. Cannons lurched, but the shots were not meant for his ship. Clouds hung over the ocean, so close it seemed as if the tip of the mast would graze them, unlike the watery sunlight of the Tracker's last battle. The shouts sounded farther away- they _were_ farther away- and Peeta could barely make out the flash of swords. If he plugged his ears and focused his attention elsewhere, he could pretend it was just another overcast day at sea.

"Let's go," he said suddenly, tugging on Rory's sleeve.

"No way! This is fascinating. I want to watch," Rory said. "I'm not scared."

_Then why are you shaking?_ Peeta thought. "Come _on_," he insisted, retreating into the stairwell and dragging Rory with him. He remembered the bodies that had splashed overboard, trails of sanguine blood leading to the railing. The memory alone made his stomach flip, now that the initial shock had worn off.

Rory twisted free petulantly. Before Peeta could grab him, he dashed back up the stairs. Peeta sighed. Ever since Rory had been reunited with his older brother, he had been growing more impatient. More accustomed to violence. Belligerent, even. And Peeta was sure that Gale was the cause of the change in behavior. He didn't like it, but then… What could he do?

Below decks, the sounds of the battle were muted somewhat. He could pretend that the cannons and pistols were just more thunder. After a week of sailing through a hurricane, he easily tuned it out. He covered the smell of smoke with that of a slow-roasted dinner. Maybe the other ship would see the smoke from the kitchen, he thought, and would wonder what someone was doing cooking in the middle of a battle.

For some reason, the image made him grin. Then, halfway ashamed, he forced his expression into impassiveness again. He should not smile. Not now. Not while other sailors were being killed. And by a crew he was a part of. No, this was not the time for smiling.

A slow hour slipped by. Peeta paced so consistently that he was sure he'd wear a track in the floor. At last, the noises of fighting ceased. Another fifteen minutes went by before thuds and breathless voices announced the return of the Tracker's crew. Clanks as weapons were dropped in a pile by the mast. Rumbles as stolen barrels were rolled to the storage rooms. Splashes. Peeta shivered.

"They're back!" Rory shouted, a bit belatedly, from the stairs. "Peeta, they're back!"

Peeta checked the oven, and then took off his apron and strode up onto the deck. Rory was standing on his tip-toes, his head swiveling back and forth, searching for something. His hair was mussed up from the salty wind, and a devilish smile was plastered on his face. He was humming a sea chantey. He truly looked like a pirate.

Before Peeta could puzzle out his thoughts, Rory's close-lipped smile exploded into a giant grin and he bounded forward into the arms of Gale. A few feet behind them, Katniss steps forward. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, and her usually neat braid had dissolved into a loose ponytail, more hair hanging about her face than was bound back. _She's beautiful,_ Peeta thought, for the hundredth time.

"All right," Mr. Undersea called, marching up onto a pile of freshly stolen crates. "What're the spoils?"

Katniss cleared her throat, and then listed in a clear voice, "Twenty barrels of food, fine quality replacement sails, lamp oil, tea, flour, sugar, velvet, charts, rum…"

She continued to name both supplies and fineries, and with each addition Peeta winced.

At last she finished with, "Clothing, silver spoons and one very fine hat." She gestured to a triangular, feather-plumed hat on top of Mr. Undersea's head.

He adjusted it proudly, a rare smile showing off all five of his missing teeth. "Is tha' it, then?" he asked, and the pirates' heads bobbed. "All righ', then," he said, and walked to a cannon. Peeta craned his neck to see what he was doing, but the crowd obscured his actions. Before he could ask, Mr. Undersea lit the fuse and stepped back. A sphere of fire streaked between the ships, struck the other vessel's starboard side and set it aflame.

"You're burning it!" Peeta exclaimed, realizing too late the reason for the cannon.

Everyone turned to stare at him. "Yes. Wha' about it?" Mr. Undersea said gruffly.

Peeta opened and closed his mouth a few times. "Well… Well… Why?"

"So tha' no one else can use it," he explained slowly, as if talking to a child.

Peeta looked down, biting his cheek to keep from saying something stupid. _Pirate,_ he reminded himself once again. _You're a pirate now. Get used to this kind of thing._

"If there'll be no more complaints, let's ge' goin', then."

The crew moved off to stow away their spoils. Peeta slunk back down the stairs. Behind them, already drifting towards the horizon, the other ship burned with angry orange flames. No one tried to put them out. No one was left. Peeta had never hated the Tracker more.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys!**

**Question for you: should I do an occasional chapter in Katniss's POV, or should I keep it strictly from Peeta's POV? **

**That is all.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Peeta drifted about in a state of cold, bitter silence for a good three days. He refused to speak to anyone except to answer questions with one word each. When Thresh asked him what was wrong, he just shrugged and turned away. He hated the pirates, he hated the Tracker, and he hated himself for not being able to do anything about it.

Gale's appearance late in the afternoon did nothing to help his mood.

Rory trailed after him, as always, with a knife strapped to his belt that matched Gale's. Both of their hair was messed up and swept to one side with salt wind, and they wore identical mischievous smiles. Ever since Rory had been reunited with his brother, he had been becoming more and more like him. Now, it seemed, they were the same person, save for some years' difference in age. Peeta didn't like it. Gale hadn't given him any particular reason for suspicion, but something about him seemed almost dangerous.

That, and Peeta had a sneaking suspicion that he and Katniss were together.

"Mr. Mellark," Gale greeted him, a bit stiffly. He never called Peeta by his first name.

Peeta matched his tone. "Mr. Hawthorne."

"Hi, Peeta," Rory said, obviously fighting to keep his voice vaguely disinterested, like Gale's. Peeta winced. "Everything going okay down here?"

"Fine."

"What's for dinner?"

"Halibut."

"What kind?"

"Stew."

The cool tone melted off of Rory's young voice, like morning fog, as he walked up beside Peeta and quietly asked, "What's up with you?"

Peeta hesitated. Honesty. Dignity. His father wouldn't approve of being so sullen. He'd say it was ungentlemanly. "I'm all right, Rory," he said at last. "I'm just not very used to… being here."

"But being here is great!" Rory proclaimed, flinging his arms in the air and seeming to momentarily forget that Gale was standing a few feet behind him. "There's good food, and treasure, and stories, and sword fighting! It's _so_ much better than that old sailor ship we used to be on."

He scowled at the memory, and the expression was so out of place on his round face that Peeta winced again. Peeta thought of his old ship with remorse and longing, and here Rory was remembering it as something bad that they had escaped.

"Yeah, sailors are jerks," Gale said, tossing an apple to Rory and taking one for himself. "They only ever think of themselves. Not like us."

"We're a family," Rory finished for him, and it sounded like something that had been repeated many times.

_Is that how you think of yourselves?_ Peeta thought dryly. _Odd. It seems to me to be almost the opposite._

He reprimanded himself again almost immediately after finishing the thought. Honesty. Dignity. He was a gentleman. He would make his father proud. He wouldn't sulk. He'd keep an open mind.

"How so?" he asked lightly, keeping his hands busy with the stew.

Gale's gray eyes, a shade darker than Katniss's, flashed towards him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're pirates. I don't mean any offence, but one doesn't generally think of one big, happy family when they think of pirates."

"We get bad press," Gale said, leaning back in his seat. "If people took the time to think about our motives and look at how we do things, maybe they'd see that we're not just a bunch of violent drunks who destroy everything in their path."

"But-" _That's what you do. _"What do you do, if that's not it?"

Gale's eyes narrowed. "You'll see in a few weeks, when we make port."

Rory's expression darkened along with Gale's, but this time Peeta could tell it wasn't to match him. Whatever was on land at their destination must be something bad.

Yet another wonderful development of life aboard the Tracker.

* * *

The crew became both more subdued and more cheerful as they approached land. It was an odd feeling. Smiles were more frequent, but less bright. Songs were sung more loudly, but in minor keys. Katniss, especially, seemed anxious. She paced constantly, driving everyone around her insane. Rory joked that he could always tell where she'd been recently by the circular track worn in the floor boards.

At last, Peeta worked up the nerve to ask Captain Abernanthy where they were going. He seemed surprisingly sober, only wobbling a little bit and watching the horizon with clear, if bloodshot, eyes.

"Ah," he said. "We're goin' home, boy."

"Home?" Peeta asked. The word struck a chord in him. Home. His home was far away, nestled in a hilly, windswept bowl of earth several miles in diameter. The sea could be seen from the town square, glittering with the reflected colors of sunset and framed by papery trees and houses built of limestone. How he missed that view.

"Our home," Haymitch expanded, drawing Peeta's attention back to the present. "The Seam. I'm from there. Miss Everdeen's from there. Mr. Hawthorne's from there, and I suppose the little pip squeak would be, too."

"Rory," Peeta supplied.

"Aye, him. Ya notice, mos' o' us look the same?"

Peeta nodded. The dark hair. The gray eyes. _None as bright as Katniss's, though, _he thought to himself.

"We're from the same place." Haymitch shook his head sadly. "Not much o' a place. But it's home."

With that he walked away, leaving Peeta standing at the prow, turning over the conversation in his head and wondering how he had ended up with more questions in his head than when he had started out.

He didn't have long to wonder, though. Just at that moment, a bell rang. Katniss's voice, just as clear and loud as the bell, called out, "Land ho! To your stations! Prepare the longboats!"

Peeta glanced first up at Katniss, who perched in the rigging like a sea bird, boots dangling into the air and braid coming undone in the fresh breeze. Then he looked to the horizon, pulling out his small bronze telescope. It was the only thing he would accept out of the small pile of stolen riches he had been presented with, as a crewmember of the Tracker.

The strip of land could have been an island, or it could have been the tip of a peninsula. Either way, it was small, and vague. Grayish green foliage covered gray rock, and several small, gray boats bobbed at a thin, gray-brown dock. It was so far away, still, that this was all Peeta could make out. The boats looked to be the size of grains of rice, even with his telescope.

A hand on his elbow startled him into lowering his telescope. "Come, Peeta Mellark," Katniss said, her tone unreadable. "Meet the rest of my family."


	8. Chapter 8

**Nice long chapter for you today. Yay! :) **

* * *

The Seam was, at first glance, completely forgettable. Everything was tinted gray with coal dust. The air smelled of the stuff. A heavy cloud layer blocked the sun, casting everything in a dim, watery light. The lonely sounds of wind chimes and the clank of pots over open fires sounded overly loud in the otherwise unnaturally quiet air. This was not unusual. It could have been any mining town near the coast. Except for the people.

Their eyes varied in shade, but the color was the same: gray, like the ground, like the clouds, like everything. Their hair, usually hidden by worn squares of cloth or clipped short, was dark. Chocolaty brown to dull black, and all the shades in-between. Their skin was tanned- it would have been quite pretty, if it wasn't stretched over bones so prominent they could have already been dead.

As Peeta shuffled along the creaking pier, he found he couldn't keep his eyes off the inhabitants of the town. Not one of them looked well-fed. Even the children were skin and bones. But their eyes… Something about their eyes held his own. They were hard. Determined. Laugh lines blended in with the evidence of scowls. He could well see how Katniss came from this place. And Haymitch. And the Hawthornes.

Suddenly, a cry shattered the silence. It was a young boy, clinging to a drooping tree some yards from the pebble beach and pointing with a slender arm. "The Tracker! It's the Tracker!"

Peeta winced. The ship had stayed a ways from shore, leaving only a skeleton crew on board. The rest had come in longboats, which they then secured to the pier. He assumed that they did this so that the Seam population wouldn't panic at the sight of the infamous vessel. Apparently it hadn't worked. He ducked his head and waited for the screams to spread to the mainland.

The shrieks did spread. But something was off. People raised their heads, gazing towards the sea hopefully. Children ran barefoot across the sharp rocks of the beach, half-full buckets of mussels swinging from their hands. A bell rang once, twice, three times, clear and high as Katniss's voice.

"The Tracker!"

"They're back!"

"Come and see! It's them!"

"Quick! Get a fire started!"

For the first time in his life, Peeta witnessed a pirate ship- and not just any pirate ship, but _the Tracker_- being welcomed with laughter and joy and relief. He glanced at the rest of the crew. Most of them wore identical grins, as if they were just about to hand out presents on Christmas morning. Finnick strutted down the planks as if he was a prince being cheered on by all the ladies of the court. Katniss craned her neck, looking for something. Thresh smiled at Peeta when he saw him looking, and then started running. He dodged through the gathering crowd, which parted to let him through, and swept up a young girl into his arms. She had the same darker coloring that Thresh did, and the same smile. She could have been his sister.

The girl, once free of Thresh's bear hug, waved an arm in the air enthusiastically. "Katniss!" she called.

Katniss stepped forward to give the girl a hug of her own and smooth down her hair. "Hello, Rue." She smiled gently, saying something else that Peeta didn't catch.

The farther inland they got, the more of the crew drifted away to embrace friends and family. Some of them had matching dark hair and olive skin that blended in with the Seam without another glance sent their way. Peeta envied them. His own bright blonde hair attracted enough stares to last him a lifetime. He felt like a canary in a tree of crows.

Then, just as this thought went through his mind, he spotted two more blonde heads of hair weaving through the crowd. Two more canaries. But these canaries belonged in the tree.

No. Not a tree. A coal mine.

The little girl had a sweet face and two long braids that bounced behind her as she skipped. The older woman was frail-looking and slower, with a pinched, worried look around her eyes and hands that were folded neatly in front of her. Peeta watched in wonder as they both walked straight up to Katniss.

The little girl pounced on her before she could turn around, giggling and tugging on her braid. Katniss twisted her head, a radiant smile turning her entire countenance as bright and warm as a wood fire. She gathered the little girl up like she was a ragdoll, easily scooping her off the ground. The woman exchanged a smile with her, and they both put a hand on the little girl's shoulder when she finally dropped back to the ground.

Approaching footsteps startled Peeta out of his thoughts. "Tha's her family," Haymitch said gruffly. And then, in a tone just a fraction of a degree softer, "Tha's why she keeps goin', even when the rest o' us can' even get up in the mornin'."

With that he lurched away, towards a shop labeled _Liquor_, leaving Peeta to turn his eyes to the reunion once again, his heart aching for the mystery of a girl in front of him.

* * *

What came next was possibly the most fun Peeta had ever had in his life. More longboats came ashore, these carrying crates upon crates of most everything in the storeroom. Boxes of oranges, sacks of tea, coffee, sugar and grain, precious china dolls and little wooden trains placed in children's arms, yards of fine cloth, ivory knives, pots and pans and live chickens and seeds. Everything he had looked on with a slightly skeptical eye before- everything he had thought too frivolous to keep in a ship's kitchens- went straight into the eager hands and mouths of those in the Seam.

A bonfire was built up in the center of town, with smaller cooking fires dotted around it. Soon the fragrant smell of wood smoke and roasting pig wafted between the cabin houses. Peeta, wandering towards the town center at the heels of the rest of the crew, could distinctly make out the crisp tang of apples and the rich aroma of baking which was underlying it all. His mouth watered.

The crew settled themselves around the bonfire, although they were constantly popping up again to help with random tasks. The pig was actually a wild boar, no doubt from the woods that surrounded the town. The trees seemed to lean in towards the buildings, as if they, too, could smell the delicious aromas coming from the fires.

Peeta kept tabs on Katniss's whereabouts in the back of his mind. She stuck with her family, for the most part- Prim, her little sister was called, and her mother- but once Peeta caught a glimpse of her and Gale disappearing off into the trees. His stomach felt as if a cold stone had been dropped into it. There was no doubt about it now. She and Gale were together. He should have known. The dishes he was helping to set out took the worst of his frustration. Thankfully, they were made of wood. Who knew what they were doing, off in the woods… alone…

"The trees that made those plates died a long time ago, sonny," the old woman at his elbow croaked, a mischievous spark dancing in her eye. "You don't need to try an' kill 'em again."

"Sorry," he mumbled, tucking his chin down.

"What's troubling you, lad?" the woman asked, her rough voice pitching into a sympathetic tone. "It's a girl, ain't it? Come, now, you can tell old Sae. I won't breathe a word. Most likely because I wouldn't have any breath left by the time I got around t' telling anyone. I'd be dead!" She tossed her head back and let loose a bark of laughter.

Peeta blinked at the odd humor, and then sighed. "Yeah, it is."

Sae waited patiently, setting out carved wooden cups with practiced precision.

"She's with someone else."

"Well, ain't that a pickle." She tipped her head to the side, and the bones in her neck crackled. "They been together a long time?"

"I think so."

"And you saw 'er and were smitten, no way to change your mind about it. Say I'm right!" She cawed the last sentence gleefully, as if it was a game to her to guess at Peeta's predicament.

"You're right," he repeated obediently. "Well… almost. It was her voice. I heard her singing."

"Katniss!" Sae exclaimed suddenly, jabbing a crooked finger at him.

"Huh?"

"You fell for Miss Katniss Everdeen!" She slapped her knee and cackled as if it was the funniest thing she had ever seen. "Ah, sonny, you wouldn't be the first!"

"I- how did you know?" Peeta asked, completely dumbfounded.

She tapped her nose. "I been watching. I seen the way you look at 'er."

Peeta said nothing. He was too embarrassed to come up with a good answer.

"Well, I'll tell you something, and you better listen good, 'cause I ain't gonna say it twice. She ain't _with_ anybody, per se." She put finer-quotes around the word _with_. Then she patted his cheek with one wrinkled hand. "Good luck to you, boy." And she left.

Peeta stared after her, somewhat in shock at the conversation he just had. He faintly heard a bell clanging, and only when other people started to move past him did he realize that everyone was sitting down around fires and on blankets, which had been spread on the ground. He hurried to take a plate and cup and located a small clump of teenage Seam kids to sit near, trying to stay as far away from the pirates as possible.

And then the feast began.


	9. Chapter 9

**This one gets kinda fluffy near the end, so watch out for Everlark feels. :) **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The feast included all of the delicacies that Peeta had noted in the ship's kitchen. Honey drizzled on fluffy bread. Rich, hot stews made of exotic cuts of meat. A woven net of flowers with bitter but edible petals encircled an urn of goat cheese seasoned with basil. Nearby, the roasted boar stared glumly at a bowl full of sugared fruits.

Fine as the food was, the portions were noticeably small. Even the pirates that usually grabbed for second helpings aboard the ship kept their plates light with modest servings. The only one who indulged himself was Haymitch, who imbibed so much wine that Peeta wondered how his stomach didn't burst. He ended up being carried off by several of the Seam men, after stumbling around for a good half hour, almost lighting himself on fire and finally collapsing under a table. Peeta winced when this happened, glancing around and wondering what it would do to the Tracker's reputation if people spread word about its drunken captain.

Then he shook himself. _What do you care about the Tracker's reputation, of all things? _He didn't care. He was a sailor, and a cook. Not a pirate. If he was anything, he definitely wasn't a pirate. He had to act like one, that was true. Had to do what the rest of the crew did. But he wasn't really a pirate. Was he?

* * *

Goodbye's were said the following morning. Some were teary (Prim), some were gruff (Ripper, a woman whom Peeta presumed was a good friend of Haymitch's) and some were resigned (Gale and Rory's mother, Hazel). But most were brief and warm, like the words exchanged between a family in the morning as they head off to school and work.

"Have a safe voyage, dear."

"Don't forget your hat!"

"I'll see you next Spring."

"Bring back a present for your sister, won't you?"

It was obvious that this coming and going was a routine long established by the crew of the Tracker. Peeta, watching the embraces and soft words being given around him, couldn't help but feel alone, no matter that he was surrounded by people. Now, for the first time since setting sail on his original ship, he missed his family with a hollowness that ached in his chest.

The chests being loaded onto the Tracker were hollow, too. Peeta constantly misjudged their weight, thinking them much heavier than they actually were, and ended up almost hitting himself in the nose several times. By the time he expected light, empty crates, they had moved on to the barrels full of water, and the process started all over again in reverse. It was with some relief that he finally settled himself on his customary stool next to the ovens, having done his share of moving fresh supplies back onto the ship.

Shouts and tromping boots made the whole structure vibrate slightly, something that would have made him nervous a month before. Now, however, he barely paid it any mind. He was busy thinking about the Seam. About the skeletal children with determination in their steel eyes, and about Katniss's sweet little sister. About the rapiers and poniards strapped securely to everyone's belt before they stepped into the longboats. About how, now that the happy task of distributing the wealth was over, the cycle would start again. They would no longer be sailing swiftly and on one course, towards this little spit of land. They would be doing what the Tracker did best- seeking out sailing ships with the sole purpose of stripping them of supplies and leaving them in pieces.

He fingered the small knife on his own belt, which he had only accepted after Thresh practically shoved it into his hands, saying, "You'll need it." The leather sheath felt cool, as if the metal below was freezing it from the inside out. The blade, though small, was sharp enough to slice through a length of rope with a flick of the wrist. Sharp enough to require minimum skill in order to kill someone. The pommel felt like acid against his palm.

Shoving away both his dark thoughts and the knife, still in its sheath, he sucked in a deep breath. The air felt different close to land, and he savored the way it slid over his lips, salty and slippery, like oil. Like blood.

"Peeta?"

Jumping slightly, he twisted in his seat, coming face-to-face with Katniss. It must have been foggy outside, because her skin was damp and shining, the soft olive tones reflecting the lamplight, and miniscule beads of moisture clung to her eyelashes. Peeta froze, instantly clamping his hands down on the edges of his stool to avoid doing anything stupid like running his fingers over her braid. She smelled like pine sap.

Her eyes widened, no doubt taking in how little space there was between them. Peeta waited for her to step back- distance herself from him, as she did with everything else. But she didn't. For five seconds- five seconds that dripped by slowly, like half-dried tar dripping from the lip of a bucket- they stayed that way, just inches apart, neither daring to move and break the dim, sea-scented spell that had settled on them.

And then she did move, blinking and swaying backwards as if suddenly disoriented.

"D-did you need something?" Peeta stuttered, somewhat in shock from what had just happened.

"I- yes." Katniss lifted her chin, her face becoming blank once again, devoid of emotion. "You're needed above deck. Thresh has injured his hand- nothing serious, but I need to take a look at it- and you're to take his place until the end of this shift."

"Right," he breathed. He forced himself not to flinch as his hand closed around the ice-lethal knife, securing it to his belt once again.

Katniss nodded once, jerkily, and swung around. She walked swiftly to the stairs, nearly jogging, and then pulled up at the last second. Turning back, she opened her mouth, thought better of it, closed it again and dashed up the stairs.

Peeta took a moment to steady himself before following her. The look on her face when they had found themselves staring accidentally into each other's eyes, surprise mixed with… something else. It left him wondering. And it would have been so easy to lean forward, just a bit, just to see what she'd do. So easy to lift a hand to smooth back the stray strands of hair that had escaped her braid in the sea wind.

He was needed on deck, and distraction was something he couldn't afford. It was hard enough just going through the motions he hadn't learned yet, readying the ship for open-ocean sailing, without thoughts of Katniss's fog-dampened cheeks occupying his mind. But, as usual when it came to the First Mate of the Tracker, it was no use. Then and there, Peeta made a vow that, just once before he died, he would kiss Katniss Everdeen.


	10. Chapter 10

**I don't own the Hunger Games. **

**Enjoy! Leave a review if you have time. It's much appreciated :)**

* * *

Watery morning light seeped into the black-velvet sky, barely a shade lighter than that of the Western horizon. But Peeta noticed. His artist's eye, though more trained for the lines of charcoal sketches, picked up on the subtle difference of color. He pushed his fingers into the crooks of his elbows, shoulders drawn up towards his ears. It was cold. This whole part of the ocean was cold. Since they left the Seam, the smothering fog that hung there had only gotten worse, eventually freezing and dropping into the sea as tiny, stinging pellets of ice. Peeta hated it.

Katniss, however, seemed to thrive in the miserable weather. It had been three days since they had found themselves face-to-face below deck, and Peeta hadn't spoken to her since. But he saw her around the ship. At the prow, leaning into the chilled wind with her palms pressed into the curved, salt-bleached beams of wood. Climbing in the frosty rigging like a squirrel in a tree. She would purposely slide across the sleet-glossed deck, as if she was ice skating, and when the crew gathered for meals, her cheeks would glow not just from cold.

He couldn't figure it out. Why was she so _happy_? The ropes were sodden and icy and cold. The sails were stiff and uncooperative and cold. The food was running out. And cold. Everything was cold, especially the spray of briny seawater that burst up over the sides of the ship every few seconds, soaking anyone near to the marrow. Even in the kitchen, the only really warm spot was inside the oven, but Peeta wasn't that desperate. Through all this, Katniss went about her work with a small, perplexing hint of a smile tipping up one corner of her mouth.

The ship's bell startled away Peeta's thoughts like a flock of birds. He shot towards the stairs, nodding to Marcus on his way past. Marcus grunted and glared at the imperceptibly lightening sky as if it had insulted him. The former sailor, unlike Peeta, had no trouble adapting to the title of _pirate_. Just weeks after their old ship was raided, Marcus Wool the sailor became Mad Mark the pirate. Since then, Peeta had stopped talking to him.

The hammocks swung back and forth in sync, most so wrapped in blankets that they resembled cocoons. Peeta yanked the top off his box of spare clothes and few personal belongings. Every sweater he owned went over his head, and every pair of socks were shoved onto his feet. Then he wriggled into his own hammock, huffing indignantly. _It should not be this cold. We're on a ship, for God's sake. Shouldn't we be frying eggs with just the sun?_

Then again, he had never handled the cold very well, seeing as he grew up in a bakery, where the temperature seldom dropped below seventy.

Bundled up in heavy layers of fabric, he ducked his head under the blankets and drifted off.

* * *

_The sea was freezing over, foam turning to ice in jagged, choppy swells, waves as still as death and just as dark. Peeta slipped and stumbled on the glassy surface, completely unable to get any traction. There was no ship anywhere in sight, nor anyone else, just the frozen sea and star-pricked sky._

_Some dark, unseen force whispered behind him, like a shadow made into something tangible. Panicking, he ran, falling onto hands and knees more often than not and scrambling over the smaller swells. A shallow path of sorts opened up between the mountainous waves. It led into an even darker space, but which was worse? The darkness ahead or the shadow behind?_

_Peeta tripped. His pant leg caught on a jutting spike of ice and he fell hard, sliding several yards before finally coming to a stop. The shadow swooped down on him just as a bird of prey would swoop down on a field mouse, but instead of sinking its claws into his flesh, it grabbed his arm and flipped him onto his back. For a moment, Peeta forgot to be frightened. Standing beside him was… himself. Except, not himself. This Peeta had a long, cruel rapier hanging from one hip, bangs swept back by a tattered bandana in typical pirate fashion and old bloodstains on his sleeves. Worst were his eyes, which glittered with the exact shade of blue as Peeta's own, but frosted over with a malice that made him shudder._

_"Why are you running?" Other Peeta asked, tipping his head to the side just as Peeta did when puzzled. "Don't you _want _to go see her?"_

_"Her?"_

_Other Peeta pointed behind him, down the path and towards the darkness there. A heartbeat later, a voice, lovely and sweet, echoed between the waves._

_"Katniss," he breathed, struggling to his feet. He did. He did want to see her._

_"Go on," Other Peeta prodded. "Nothing's keeping you back."_

_Peeta stepped forward hesitantly, but the ice melted under his feet, giving way to rich, fragrant earth. He stepped again, and again, and all at once started running again, towards the sound of Katniss's voice. Swing around a bend, hurdle over a quickly-melting curve of ice, duck under a sinewy tree branch. The frozen waves abruptly gave way to forest, and then meadow. In the middle of the meadow, sitting cross-legged on a large lily pad that floated in a pool, was Katniss. She smiled as she sang, stretching a hand towards him. Peeta tried to go forward, but there was one more obstacle: a clear sheet of ice that extended around the whole meadow, blocking his progress. _

_Other Peeta stepped up beside him and, with a smirk, passed right though the barrier._

_"Why can't I get in?" Peeta asked mournfully. Katniss kept singing, her arm still extended, waiting for him._

_Other Peeta grinned, fox-like. "You're not a pirate," he said. "You'll never get to her unless you're one of us."_

_"I am a pirate," he argued. "I'm part of a pirate crew."_

_Other Peeta laughed humorlessly, his lip curling in a disdainful manner. "No. You're just a sailor." _

_With that he strode onwards, across the meadow, leaving Peeta to press his palm against the ice and wonder wildly which side he wanted to be on._

* * *

He woke to the tramp of many boots on the stairs. Breakfast time. Groaning, he scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, thoroughly shaken up by his dream.

The air had warmed a merciful degree or two since the sun came up, and he peeled off most of his sweaters, leaving only one still on his back, before joining the crowd for breakfast. Which was, of course, cold. He sat down and, out of habit, glanced up at Katniss's spot.

"Hey." The word surprised him, though it had come from his lips. "Where's Ka- Miss Everdeen?"

"Hm?" Thresh grunted, shoveling gray, lumpy porridge into his mouth.

"Miss Everdeen isn't here. She's never late for breakfast."

Thresh shrugged. "She'll be along."

The only other person who seemed to notice Katniss's absence was Rory, who looked at her stool, grinned knowingly, then looked away. Peeta's stomach sank as he realized that Gale wasn't present, either. That old woman may have said that Katniss and Gale weren't together, but how did she know? They were probably in the Captain's Cabin right at that moment, cuddled up in front of the fire. A pang of longing shot through Peeta. He should be the one spending the morning with her. He should be the one in front of that fire. Maybe they'd drink steaming cider from those fancy cups he had noticed last time. But it wasn't him, it was Gale.

Rousing himself from his bitter thoughts, Peeta went off, glaring, into the kitchen to start washing the dishes. That was all he was good for, after all. Making food and cleaning dishes. His dream self had been right. He wasn't a pirate, or even a decent sailor. He was just a baker, ill-suited to life on the sea and in love with a girl who had never given him so much as a second glance. No, he'd certainly never get Katniss that way. But he couldn't excuse the violent acts the pirates committed, either, no matter how noble the cause. A poor, starving village did not excuse demolishing entire ships and crews.

At that moment, the ship's bell rang out once, twice, three times. A horn sounded. Peeta gripped the plate he was washing and groaned for the second time that morning. He knew what that meant- the three tolls of the bell and one long blow on the horn. It meant another ship had been spotted.

He hunkered down on his stool, sighing in resignation, before Thresh burst into the kitchen. "Peeta," he said, his face serious.

"What?" Peeta asked, alarmed. He had never heard Thresh sound so worried before. Joking, yes. Sarcastic, yes. Determined, yes. Never worried.

"Cap'n says you're to fight in this raid."

Peeta choked on his own saliva. "W-what?"

"Says you've got to prove your loyalty." He gave Peeta a sympathetic look. "Ye knew it was goin' t' happen sometime, mate. Migh' as well be now."

Peeta tried to shake his head, which felt as if it was spinning. No. No, no, no, he couldn't do this. But then he remembered the threat issued to him at the very beginning of his time on the Tracker. _You're either useful to us or you die_. He had spent far too much time just cooking and gawking at the First Mate. Now, his break was over. It was time to decide which side he belonged on: pirate or sailor. And he didn't have much time to do it.

* * *

**Gah! I'm sorry! I'm a terrible person! I didn't mean to end on a cliffhanger, but if I went on it would be a really long chapter compared to the others, and plus, I should be sleeping. :/ Don't hate me!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Got a nice long chapter for you today. Hope you enjoy. This one is mostly action , but more fluff to come soon!**

**Also, sorry about the glitches. The site has been acting up, so the format is kind of funky, but I'm working on fixing it. Sorry for the inconvenience. :/**

**Enjoy, my lovely readers!**

* * *

The dagger felt foreign in his hand, the metal as cold as ice. Peeta had used it before, to slice bread and clean fish, but the instrument had never been used in battle while he owned it. Now, that about to change. He followed Thresh up the stairs and onto deck, where a pistol and a worn, three-cornered hat were shoved into his hands. He didn't want either of them.

"Wear the hat," Thresh advised. "Or no one'll know which side you're on."

_I don't even know which side I'm on_, he thought glumly as he shoved the hat down on his head and gingerly slipped the gun into his belt. Thresh eyed him skeptically.

"You gonna fight with just those? No sword or nothin'?"

"No sword," Peeta confirmed adamantly. Thresh shrugged.

For the first time, he allowed himself to look at the other ship. It was just close enough to see that it was racing in the opposite direction. Trying to escape. But the Tracker was faster, and they would catch up in a matter of minutes. Normally, at this point, Peeta would be hiding in the kitchen, grimacing at the tramp of feet above. The commotion was even more pronounced above deck, where pirates argued over the best weapons and gleefully tied bandannas over their faces. Someone passed around a small jar of leather oil to rub into boots and belts, and someone else passed out strips of blood-red cloth to tie around sleeves. Thresh tied Peeta's on for him, when he tried to refuse it.

Mr. Undersea and Haymitch gave a short pep talk centered around the fact that the vessel in question had purple emblems displayed on its white sails, marking it as a rich trading ship. There was likely to be money, silver, spices and silk, they said, but not much food. The crew groaned at that, mumbling about how tired they were of fish and dry biscuits. They brightened when Haymitch announced that there would be no need to take recruits, this time. Peeta took a deep breath to calm the queasiness in his stomach.

Just then, the double doors of the Captain's Cabin burst open and out strode Katniss. She looked exactly as Peeta remembered her when they first met. Her rapier swung from her hip, her hair was drawn back elegantly yet practically in a French braid and her soft leather pants were tucked neatly into her lace-up boots. It was still odd to see a girl in pants and boots, but at least by this time, he had learned not to stare. The doors swung shut again. Peeta blinked. Gale hadn't followed Katniss out of the Captain's Cabin. Did that mean he was never there in the first place?

"What are we up against?" she asked Haymitch, accepting the pistol he handed her.

"Merchant trading ship," he said. "Purple emblem. Fifty guns."

"They won't pose much of a problem, then," she said coolly.

Haymitch grinned. "Reckon they've got some rum on board?"

"If it's the kind of ship you say it is, they'll have port and brandy, too. Not that you'd care. You'd take anything that gets you drunk, even if it's fermented seawater." With that, she walked away, taking hold of one of the ropes. Half of the crew followed her lead, lining up on the starboard side. The other half readied the cannons. Peeta hovered, not sure where to go, until Haymitch raised his eyebrows at him and pointed to the ropes. No matter how drunk or hung-over he might be, he hadn't forgotten his order for Peeta to fight.

Somehow, in the jostle through the crowd, he ended up next to Katniss. She glanced at him, then did a double take. "Peeta? What are you doing here?" He couldn't tell if she was annoyed, confused, surprised or suspicious.

"Captain Abernathy wants me to be in this raid," he said shortly.

"Why?"

He shrugged.

"Don't give me that. I know there's a reason." Even while balancing precariously on a railing and holding a rope that was twice as thick as her wrist, she managed to look intimidating. Peeta sighed.

"I guess he wants me to… prove my loyalty, or something like that."

There was a pause. Then, lowering her voice, she said, "But you're not exactly loyal to the Tracker, are you?"

"What are you- ?" he started to say, but she cut him off.

"You just be careful, all right? I don't know what he's thinking, sending you on a raid, but I'll be keeping a close eye on you. Don't try anything risky."

The cannons exploded into action, ending the conversation. Peeta struggled to keep his balance as cannon balls struck both ships, more confused than ever. Did she mean that she suspected he would betray the Tracker, and that she'd be watching him to make sure he didn't? Or did she mean that she was worried for him, since he wasn't especially suited for battle, and that she would be watching him to make sure he didn't get hurt? Her words could have either meaning, or maybe even both at once…

As they drew level with the merchant ship, Peeta could see the sailors on-board. Not many of them even appeared to have weapons. Most were tending to the cannons and sails. All of them looked terrified. Peeta bit the inside of his cheek, hard. How was he supposed to fight, _kill_ these people, take their cargo, when they hadn't done a single thing wrong? He couldn't, he couldn't, he… had to.

Almost in sync, the pirates swooped down on their ropes. Peeta followed a beat later, the only one not moving as part of the group. He landed awkwardly on the deck, stumbling on impact. While he tried to regain his balance, everyone else was already off, spreading across the ship . Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Katniss leap into the rigging and start picking people off from there. A cannon boom startled Peeta to his senses, and he drew his dagger.

The sailors, though obviously untrained, defended themselves reasonably well. They aimed guns and slashed with knives, and they might have had a chance, except for one thing: this was the crew of the Tracker, which operated like a well-oiled machine. Everyone seemed to have a job of their own, be it cutting the ropes of the cannons, herding the sailors towards the prow or slipping below deck to ferret out anyone hiding. Peeta, of course, didn't quite fit into the system. He stepped back and forth, nervous and unsure. He settled on just trying to avoid the worst of the fighting and maybe push a sailor or two out of the way.

The pirates, of course, wouldn't let him get away with that. One of them appeared at his shoulder, growling, "Get in there, coward," and steered him into the heart of the battle. Peeta didn't even have time to yell before he was attacked. The dull handle of a gun smacked him in the back of the head, sending stars dancing in his vision. He just barely managed to raise his dagger and redirect a second blow before it hit him. The sailor blinked, maybe confused by Peeta's lack of reflexes. Then the gun was pointed at his head. Instinctively, he jerked up his arms to guard his face. The motion drove the dagger into the sailor's arm, and he shouted in pain. Peeta, horrified at the drips of red that ran down the blade and into his sleeve, yanked it back. Before the sailor could react, he turned and fled, only to run into someone else. They wasted no time, but pulled back a long, jagged knife, preparing to drive it into his stomach.

Peeta fell to the deck, landing painfully on his hip. The jolt shook his pistol free from its place in his belt, and he snatched it up. It was already loaded, ready to shoot. The sailor, a glint of fear in his eyes, lunged forward with the knife. Peeta's finger tightened on the trigger, but he couldn't- he needed to, but he couldn't- he was less than a second away from death, and his fingers still didn't cooperate-

The knife fell from the sailor's fingers as a look of surprise and pain came into his eyes. Then he, too, fell, revealing the gunshot wound in his back. Behind him, a familiar figure dropped out of the rigging, landing lightly. Katniss reloaded her pistol and shouted, "Watch yourself, Peeta! You've got a gun- use it!" She bounded away almost before finishing her sentence, vanishing into the chaos.

Peeta scrambled to his feet, breathing hard. He had almost died. Katniss Everdeen had just saved his life.

He kicked the pistol away from him, despite Katniss's instructions. What use was it? He couldn't shoot it even if he wanted to. Instead, he gingerly picked up the serrated knife, grimacing at the slippery blood on the handle. At least he could defend himself with it, without killing anyone. But as it turned out, he didn't need to. The Tracker's crew was nothing if not efficient, and after a few minutes the enemy crew was defeated. Splash after splash sounded as they were tossed, or jumped, overboard.

The pirates started the cheerful process of ransacking the ship. There was, indeed, brandy. But before Haymitch claimed the bottles and disappeared, he sidled up to Peeta. "You'll be on the next raid, too," he said sternly.

"What? But I did what I was told!" Peeta cried. _I don't know if I can do this all again, _ he added silently.

"You'll be on every raid," the captain ordered in a steely voice, "Until you learn to be part of the crew."

"I am-"

"No, you're not! And if you're not happy with it, you can join them." He jerked a thumb at the small pile of bodies still waiting to be thrown overboard. Then, in a cloud of alcohol fumes, he was gone.

Peeta slumped against the mast, letting the serrated knife fall to the floor. Kill or be killed. It was like some sick game. Thresh soon found him and pulled him down the stairs, exclaiming happily over the loot. He didn't seem to notice Peeta's troubled demeanor. "Since you helped with the raid, you can pick out anythin' you like. 's long as it's not somethin' the ship needs. Look, I've got my eye on that plate, there."

Peeta looked around. The cargo hold was stuffed full of riches, as was predicted. Yards of silk were packed in cedar chests, boxes of fragrant teas were stacked to the ceiling and fine china gleamed under its padded wrappings. It was all very beautiful, and very overwhelming. For a moment, all he could do was stare. Then he set his jaw.

If Haymitch wanted Peeta to act like a pirate, he would just have to start acting like a pirate. He hated it, but if it was a means of survival, he could do it. And it would have to start now. Did he want to die? No. Did he have any choice? No. And what did pirates do? Pirates looted. So, determinedly, he pushed into the midst of the crates and barrels and selected a box at random. Upon opening it, he saw it was full of expertly-made utensils with ivory handles. Good. The kitchen was low on forks, anyway.

He set it aside, trying with all his might to push down the caustic guilt in his throat, when he saw the circlet. Curling silver wires made up the structure, forming a leaf-like pattern, and where it dipped down in the front, an opal was flanked by two small pearls. It looked like something out of a fairy-tale, as if it had been previously owned by an elf princess, or a mermaid.

Peeta lifted it from its velvet-lined box, enchanted by its simple, elegant beauty. Would the pirates want to keep this for the Seam? Would it be of any use there? Glancing around, he saw others claiming golden cups and jewel-studded weapons for themselves. Surely he could keep this, if they could keep those. And he did want it. Hesitantly, he set it back in its box, flipped the lid closed and set it on top of the crate of utensils. He would take it. Not because he wanted it for himself, but just in case he ever won over Katniss, he would have something nice for her. The thought almost made him smile, unlikely as it was.

Suddenly, he thought he understood why the crew could steal so thoughtlessly. When you were thinking of someone else as the owner- not you, and not the person it really belonged to, but someone you cared about- it wasn't like stealing. It was like… gift-shopping, almost. Was that how the pirates thought of it? Did they look at the things they stole simply as presents for friends and family back home? What about the food, the seeds, the cloth? Things that they needed? Maybe that could be explained away even more easily. The Seam needed them. The ships didn't. They were just transporting them. How bad could it be? _Very bad,_ he reminded himself. _Sailors die. Whole ships are destroyed._ But, still... he understood the reasoning.

Yes, now Peeta knew how they could steal. _And God forgive me, I'm one of them,_ he thought, aghast at himself.

Haymitch looked at him approvingly as he climbed the stairs, holding his claims. And, though they were both fairly light, he had never carried two heavier boxes.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey guys! :D **

**I'm sorry this one's short, but I promise it's not just filler. Guess you'll have to read to find out what it is! ;)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The barrel lost balance, rocked forwards and slammed down onto Peeta's hand with the force of three hundred pounds of solid wood. He heard the crunch. And then he felt it. His scream caught in his throat and came out as a broken wail. He struggled to pull free, sending fresh waves of pain up his arm with every movement. People surged around him, trying to hold him still, and others braced their shoulders against the barrel. It creaked, shifted, and all at once he was free, stumbling backwards into the people behind him.

Cradling his hand close to his chest, he locked his jaw and screwed his eyes shut, trying very hard not to make any more noises of pain. He couldn't make himself look at his hand, but he heard others' gasps and shouts.

"Oh, my God-"

"-just crushed it!"

"Have to get him to Miss Everdeen quickly-"

"Lean on me, there's a good lad-"

"-should have known better than to try to move that barrel."

"He wasn't, he was just in front of it when it fell, must've been-"

"Miss Everdeen! Over here! Quick, he's hurt!"

Peeta opened his eyes in a squint. The doors of the Captain's Cabin burst open and Katniss bounded out, not even hesitating before she pulled his uninjured arm over her shoulders and guided him inside. Someone's shadow moved into the doorway, but she said, "Unless you've got an injury, stay out there! I've got my hands full as it is!" Just before the doors swung shut, he saw Thresh move back a half-step, his eyebrows drawn together in a concerned frown.

Peeta was deposited on the same couch as when he had come for a cold. This time, the fire smoldered halfheartedly, embers winking and letting off wisps of smoke. Without any wood, it would soon go out. But Katniss didn't seem to care. Her leather boots slapped the ground as she crossed the room to a low, wooden table covered with a rough-looking cloth. Lying on it, on his stomach, was a shirtless crew member. His back was covered with red-streaked bandages. Katniss lifted these, made an unhappy sound in her throat, pressed a bundle of herbs to the wound and went back to Peeta.

"What happened?" She set a rough-hewn box on the floor in front of them, opening it to reveal an assortment of medical supplies. Gauze, packets of different-colored leaves, thick, black thread, needles, jars of waxy salves… Peeta's eyes fixed on the needles and he shuddered involuntarily.

"I was putting away cargo- a barrel fell- on my hand," he managed, speaking through his teeth.

"How badly does it hurt?"

"Bad."

"I'll need you to be a bit more specific than that. On a scale of one to ten."

"Seven or eight."

"Mm." She stood and disappeared behind his back. He heard the sounds of metal clanking against metal and water being poured. While the tea boiled, she poked and prodded his hand, causing Peeta to bite down on his sleeve. Just when he thought he would stand up and walk out, no matter the condition of his hand, she reached for a roll of bandages.

"It's not actually that bad. It's only your ring and pinky fingers that are broken. The rest of is just badly bruised. You're lucky- you could have crushed your whole hand."

_I _did_ crush my whole hand,_ he sputtered indignantly but silently while she went to check on the other patient. He knew better than to try to contradict her out loud.

"What happened to him?" Peeta asked as she replaced the other man's bandages.

"Shrapnel," she answered shortly. "A wood railing splintered in the cannon-fire on the other ship."

"Oh."

She returned to the couch and sat down next to him, tucking her feet up underneath her as she turned towards him. She reached for his hand and he ducked his head, preparing himself for another painful examination, but her grip was gentle, almost nonexistent, as she bound up his fingers. After all the jabs and pinches from before, she pressure of the cloth strips was almost bearable. Suddenly, a different kind of jolt went through him as he realized that he and Katniss were basically holding hands. Well. Hand. He felt silly, being excited over this, but… It was a start, right?

She tied off the bandages and gestured to the cup of tea she had brought along. Peeta took it clumsily, not used to using only one hand, and took a sip. The liquid scalded his lips and he drew back sharply. After a few minutes, once he was accustomed to the temperature, the overwhelming sweetness hit him. It wasn't sweet like sugar, either. It was stickier and had a different aftertaste. _Strange. _By the time he finished the cup, his head felt pleasantly fuzzy.

Katniss led him to a cot, which she unfolded and pushed against a wall. Peeta fell, as opposed to sat, down, wondering vaguely what had been in that tea.

"Sleep syrup," she answered. "It's strong, but easy to get."

_Did I ask that out loud?_

Katniss's hair was falling out of its braid, and stands fell over her forehead. She brushed them back impatiently with a slender hand. She was beautiful. Using the last of his energy and concentration just to stay upright, Peeta didn't really think about what was coming out of his mouth until it was too late.

"I like you."

"Thank you," she said distractedly, taking the mug from his hand and pushing on his shoulder to get him to lie down.

Normally, he would never continue, but the sleep syrup stuff must have been making him brave, or just stupid, and he went on. "No, I mean, I like you. I admire you. I…"

Katniss's lips parted in surprise. Peeta's heart went off at a frantic pace as he realized what he had just done. _Oh. Oh, no. Why did I say that? Why couldn't I just keep my mouth shut?_ Scrambling for something to amend his blurted-out confession, he skipped from memory to memory, trying to find something, _anything_ to undo what he had said. At last he settled on just acting nonchalant. Sure, he admired her. Fancied her, even. No big deal, right? Right?

"So?" he asked, doing his best to keep his tone calm.

"So… what?" Katniss said after several seconds of silence.

"So, will you allow it?" He tried to play it off as a half-joke, but he wasn't sure it quite came off that way. Despite his panic, the sleep syrup was invading his brain, pulling him down with insistent drowsiness, and he couldn't focus.

After what seemed like forever, during which time Peeta struggled just to stay awake, Katniss answered. "I'll allow it." The last thing he registered was the cot sinking as she sat gingerly beside him, and her voice. "I definitely have strong feelings for you. I just haven't decided if they're positive or negative yet.*"

Then he slipped into a murky landscape defined by a fog of a very familiar shade of silvery-gray.

* * *

*Yes, this quote is from the Percy Jackson movie. I don't own it, but I loved it so much I had to use it! XD Forgive me...


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey guys! :D I'm back!**

**Hope you enjoy this chapter. I had a lot of fun writing it. :)**

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Ever since the brusque dismissal from the Captain's Cabin, Peeta hadn't talked to Katniss. Cheeks burning and head down, he hadn't thought to get a last look at her. Now he wished he had. He wished he had looked at her expression, her eyes, while she held the door open and watched him walk out. He had woken up sometime in the early afternoon, slightly woozy from the remnants of the sleep syrup in his system, and almost immediately Katniss had appeared. Her face was blank, but not calm. Expressionless, but not impassive. She had examined his crushed hand, led him to the door and pointed outside. The whole time he had avoided her eyes.

And that was the last time he had spoken to her. Since then, they had barely crossed paths. Every time he caught a glimpse of her dark braid or slender hands, she flitted away like a deer in the forest. She wouldn't even make eye contact with him. And it made him feel sick. The sleep syrup made his memory foggy, but not quite foggy enough. He remembered every word he said. The embarrassment left him hiding in the kitchen more than was necessary, cursing his loose lips.

However, the crew wouldn't let him sulk too long.

Stomping footsteps on the stairs alerted Peeta to the approach of one of the pirates. He looked up at the doorway just as Darius shuffled in.

"Oy. Newbie. With me," he ordered.

Peeta blinked. His hands were coated in flour, he had a stew simmering and he was _not _in the mood for any surprises. "Um, look, Darius, I don't think…"

The pirate closed a startlingly strong fist around Peeta's arm. He grunted, "C'mon."

Peeta barely got his apron off before he was dragged out of the kitchen and up the stairs. On deck, everyone went about their own business. Climbing in the rigging, fishing, coiling ropes. Darius led him to the very back of the ship, where there was a fairly open stretch of deck. There, two other pirates waited for them. They both held swords.

"All right, what's going on?" Peeta looked from one to the other, trying to decipher their intentions. His stomach twisted. Was this some sort of test? Or even… an execution? Had they decided he was no longer of use to them?

Darius drew his own sword. Peeta's heart rate took off. _Stay calm, stay calm._ He stepped forward, sword swinging at his side. _Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm._ He raised the blade. _Forget it! Run!_ Peeta had just positioned his feet to take off and catapult himself over the railing when the pirate turned the sword around and offered him the handle. Peeta eyed the sword hesitantly, still ready to bolt.

"Well, take it already!" Darius barked.

Jumping, he grabbed the handle. Darius grunted approvingly. "Right. Now, hold it like this." He modeled with one of the other blades. "No, not like that! Yes, like- no. With your thumb here. No, not like that. Oh, come on, boy! Are you completely incompetent?"

That word- _incompetent_- was almost enough to send Peeta past the realm of politeness. It was a word his mother had often used when he was small. _"Incompetent boy! You can't do anything right, can you? I don't even know why I keep you around. You're useless."_ These words were, without fail, followed by a strike. That was before he got big enough to hit back. Coming from Darius, it didn't sound much like his mother, but it didn't matter. Peeta was mad.

"Shut up!" The three pirates' eyes widened at the shout. "I'm not stupid! It's just my hand. I can't hold this thing." He threw down the sword. The movement made his fingers throb.

"Yeh caught i' under a barrel, didn't yeh?" a pirate with Seam coloring asked, nodding at Peeta's bandaged hand.

"Yes."

"Well, then, hold the sword with th' other one," he explained patiently, as if he was speaking to a child.

"But I'm right handed."

The pirate held up his own right hand, which was missing a thumb and an index finger. "Don't matter. C'mon. Try."

Peeta ran his fingers though his hair. Honesty. Dignity. He would be a gentleman. Like his father. He picked up the sword with his left hand. The three-fingered pirate paced forward. "Put yer dominant foot in front, like this. Yeah. Now, keep yer sword lifted. Don't le' it drop or it's all for nothin'."

Grudgingly, Peeta followed his instructions, and they began to practice. He soon discovered that the swords' edges were flat, and the tips dulled. "Otherwise we'd cut each other t' ribbons," the pirate explained. Even so, he collected enough bruises to last a lifetime. Darius called encouragement from the sidelines, cheering when someone got hit. Soon, Gale joined him, followed by Rory. Haymitch stumbled over, eyes bloodshot, to watch with a crooked grin. It seemed as if half the crew was congregating. Was this a tradition? Humiliating the rookie by beating him up?

"Keep yer eyes on yer opponent," Three-Fingers reminded him as he was smacked soundly in the kneecap. Wincing, Peeta lifted his sword to defend himself several seconds too late, earning him another smack.

Before long, every inch of his arms and legs hurt and his hands were cramped from gripping the sword. He was just about ready to walk away, no matter the watching crowd, when Three-Fingers sheathed his blade.

"Not bad," he grunted. "Not good, neither. But you'll learn."

Inside, Peeta groaned. This, evidently, would not be his last lesson. Humiliation. Whatever. The crowd slowly broke up. Some people patted him on the back as they passed, some congratulated Three-Fingers on the win and some just cackled. Haymitch- one of the cacklers- pulled out his trusty flask and took a swig before saying, "You're clumsy as heck."

"I know," Peeta sighed.

As Haymitch lurched away, still chortling, a pair of silver eyes drew his attention. Katniss turned away and vanished before he could even call for her to wait. He felt as if his insides had been turned to lead. _She didn't even say hello,_ he thought. But then he straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. _But she came to watch me fight. That's something, isn't it? She must be at least a little bit concerned about my wellbeing. Either that or she just wants to see me get beat up._ He leaned the sword against a railing and let out a deep breath.

Three-Fingers, who had stayed behind, clapped Peeta on the shoulder. "You'll get better, like I said. Just wait. We'll make a pirate out o' yeh yet!" With this he guffawed and, with a snort, sauntered away.

_Stealing, fighting, sailing,_ Peeta thought, leaning his elbows on the railing and looking out to sea. _I never thought I'd be doing any of this. _As he absorbed the hues of the ocean, indigo and aquamarine and cobalt and white-gold, he drifted into memories. When he was very small, so small he could barely open doors, he was already baking with his family. His father would always set aside a small portion of dough for him to play with, and then bake whatever lumpy creation he ended up making. That was about the age that he learned about pirates. It was his father who first brought them up, speaking of some attack on a nearby port. Peeta, just tall enough to tug on his father's sleeve, asked what a pirate was.

"A vicious, cruel person," his father answered. "They live on ships, like sailors, but they go through life by stealing and killing."

"Why?" Little Peeta said, thoroughly confused. Why would they do that? Did their parents never teach them better? That was the only explanation he could come up with, so he asked.

"Maybe," his father answered. "No one really knows why they do what they do. We just know that it's bad, very bad… Peeta, listen to me." Peeta nodded and his gold curls fell into his eyes. "We are gentlemen," he began, voice low and serious. "No matter that we live in a poor town. A gentleman would never, ever do those things, so neither will we. We must always strive for honesty and dignity. Understsand?" Peeta nodded again, eyes wide. He didn't really understand all the big words, but some of them he remembered from overheard conversations between adults. Gentlemen. Poor. Dignity.

As the years passed and his father taught him more and more about running the bakery, Peeta remembered the pirates. He remembered his father's words. And when his brothers would pretend-fight with sticks as swords and slingshots as guns, he would join in only reluctantly. Then his eldest brother married, and it was just the two boys in the house, often alone with their distant mother. When the middle brother, too, left the bakery in search of an apprenticeship, Peeta became the sole heir at the age of twelve. He couldn't have been happier. He loved baking, creating things with his hands, and his father had often told him that he was the most talented of the Mellark sons when it came to sugar confections. He expected to grow up and take over, marry one of the light-haired town girls, pass on the bakery to a son of his own.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, the middle brother died of an accident at the mill. Peeta fled his hometown in a bout of grief and impulse, ending up some months later as a ship's cook.

Now… Peeta smirked at the dark waters lapping at the hull below him. Now he was a pirate on the most infamous ship on the ocean, in love with a dark-haired girl and as far away from home as he possibly could be. He suddenly envied the Seam pirates for their visits to their families. He envied Katniss her ability to see her little sister twice a year. Then again, six months was an awfully long time. A lot could change in six months. People could grow up in six months. Maybe it wasn't such a good thing after all.

Turning away, he started making his way back towards the stairs. That stew was still on the stove, after all. He'd face a mob of angry men that evening if he let it burn. As he passed the Captain's Cabin, he thought he caught a flash of movement and the click of a door closing. Then again, he also might have imagined it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Note: this fic if T rated, and the end of this chapter will reflect that. It's nothing graphic or specific, but if you're extremely squeamish, be warned. **

**Sorry for the not-so-often updates. It's the end of school, I've been busy, you know the deal. :P I promise I'll update a lot more often come summer.**

**Enjoy!**

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Peeta's sword fighting lessons soon expanded to include gun shooting and ship sailing. From throwing knives with Haymitch to climbing in the rigging with Rory, sword fighting with Three-Fingers to manning the helm with Thresh, it seemed as if every spare second out of the kitchen was spent on some sort of lesson. By the end of each day, he barely had the energy to stumble to his hammock before collapsing. But, though grudgingly, he had to admit- he was learning. He was becoming steadier on his feet and more adept at handling weapons. His reflexes were sharpening, and he gathered less bruises with each skirmish.

It was mid-Winter on the seas when Peeta first beat Three-Fingers at sword fighting. Three-Fingers jabbed at his side and Peeta knocked his blade away, twisting his own up towards Three-Fingers' chest. He stepped just out of reach and Peeta's sword swished through empty air like a cattle whip. Feinting to the left, Three-Fingers changed trajectory at the last second and flicked the tip of his blade towards Peeta's knee. Peeta saw it coming. Instead of blocking the incoming blow, he lunged for Three-Fingers' side. His sword struck soundly, earning a wince, and as Three-Fingers brought his hands up to strike Peeta's sword away, the blades met and Three Fingers' was deflected, lodging itself firmly into the mast. Peeta's sword was at his throat before he could blink.

They stood still for a moment, panting. Slowly, Peeta realized… he had won. Three-Fingers was unarmed and, if it wasn't for the thick sheathes of fabric bound around the blades, he would be dead. He stepped back, lowering his sword guiltily. The whole situation reminded him too much of when he was first taken by the Tracker, when Katniss had her knife at his neck.

"Sorry," he muttered, walking to the sword still quivering in the mast. "I… sorry."

"Sorry?" Three-Fingers exclaimed. "Yer kiddin'! Tha' was the best Ah've ever seen ya fight! Come on, gimme my sword! See if yeh can beat me again!"

He couldn't. Whatever he had done right the first time, it wasn't working anymore. Peeta lost to Three-Fingers three times before they put away their swords. At least they didn't have a crowd watching them anymore.

"Yeh did good, lad," he said, slapping Peeta on the back. "Just wait. Yeh'll be th' most fearsome pirate on the ship one day."

"Thank you," Peeta said, knowing it was meant as a compliment. "But I don't think so."

"Just wait," he said again, then hobbled away with a throaty chuckle.

Peeta leaned against the mast while he unwrapped his sword. The fabric had become frayed from the countless times winding and unwinding it around the weapon, and razor-thin indents marked where the edges cut slightly into the cloth. As he set aside the bundle and reached for a water canteen, a shadow flickered across the sun overhead. He glanced up in time to see Katniss descending from the rigging. She hopped from rope to rope like a squirrel, finally dropping the last ten feet to the deck.

Her face was impassive when she said, "When's your lesson with Rory, usually?"

"Right about now. Why?"

"Because today I'll be taking over."

Peeta concentrated very hard on replacing the lid to his canteen, avoiding her eyes. It clicked snugly into place before he said, "All right. Any reason in particular?"

"I've had more practice than Rory," she explained. "Also, we'll be in the crow's nest today, and he says that makes him sick."

_It makes _me_ sick,_ Peeta thought.

"Are you ready?"

_No._

"Yes."

Even on the calmest of days in the lowest of ropes, Peeta felt queasy up amongst the sails. Today, some two hundred feet above the frothy sea, it was hard to focus. And with Katniss there, well, it was a wonder he didn't fall within the first ten minutes. By the time they reached the crow's nest, which swung through the low-hanging sky like a pendulum, his hands shook so hard he could barely hold on. He wrapped his arms around the nearest wobbly rail and put his head down on his knees. Katniss patted his shoulder awkwardly.

After some minutes of breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, he lifted his head. It was nearing sunset. On the horizon, where it was impossible to tell sea from sky, pink melted into blue. Gold-streaked clouds were torn like jagged claw marks in the heavens. Apart from the far-away swish of water, it was so quiet it felt wrong to make a sound.

Katniss was the first to speak up. "You're not a quitter, I'll give you that." She looked at him sideways, waiting for his reaction.

At last he replied, "My father always told me never to give up." Then he mentally cringed. He sounded like a little boy.

"Is he dead?" Katniss asked bluntly.

"No. At least, I don't think so. I hope not. I haven't seen him in a while." When it became clear that Katniss was waiting for more, he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'll spare you the sob story. But, basically, I left in a hurry and haven't heard from him since."

Katniss made a short sound in the back of her throat that might have been laughter. "Sounds like me. First time I left, no one thought I was coming back."

"What happened?"

"I'll spare you the sob story," she mimicked, smirking. But Peeta thought he saw something else in her eyes before she looked away. He waited. Katniss fiddled with her boots. "We were out of options," she said quietly. "So the next time the Tracker came by, I demanded they let me on their crew. Haymitch knew me, so he let me on as a cabin boy… well, cabin girl." The fading sunlight glinted off a small knife that she nervously flicked open and closed.

"And… how did you get from there to First Mate?" Peeta ventured, wary of pushing her too far. He had seen before how suddenly her walls could go up.

"They saw me fight. Apparently I turn into a wild animal when I'm cornered. I don't think anyone wanted to get in my way after that."

It seemed like that was only half of the story. Cautiously, Peeta said, "Cornered?" It was immediately apparent he had gone too far.

Katniss hung her head. "There used to be a crewmember… named Cray. That time… it's the reason that he is no longer on this ship. Or any ship. It's also why I have the Captain's Cabin to myself now."

It took a few minutes, but once Peeta pieced together her meaning, his vision went red. His hands clenched hard enough for his fingernails to bite into his palms. His jaw locked. _How dare he. How. Dare. He. If he wasn't already dead… Oh, Katniss. It's no wonder you don't trust easily. _He remembered what Thresh said when he asked about Katniss, those first days onboard. How the men respected her, and if not, were afraid of her. Now he understood what he had meant a little better.

"Stop it," Katniss snarled suddenly. "Don't go pitying me because of something that didn't even happen. He cornered me, I fought, Gale and Haymitch intervened, Cray was killed. End of story."

But Peeta couldn't stop the tremors of rage running up his spine. For the first time, he wanted the cool, heavy feel of a weapon in his hands. If, at that moment, something like that happened again, he wouldn't hesitate a moment to use it.

"Hey. Hey!" Katniss snapped her fingers in front of his face and he blinked. "Look. Are we going to get this lesson over with, or are we going to sit here jabbering until it's dark?"

They got up, Peeta once again gripping the ropes, and clambered into the rigging. The whole time Katniss spoke about balance and knots and three points of contact, one thought kept running through his head: _I'll keep you safe. I'll keep you safe. I'll keep you safe. However I can_. _I won't let that happen again._

The next day, Haymitch commented on how much more accurate Peeta was with the knives. When questioned, he simply replied, "If I ever need to use them, I'll be ready."

Without warning, a bell rang, harsh and demanding.

"You'd better be," Haymitch said, shoving knives back into their sheathes. "Because here comes your chance." The ship burst to life with pirates scrambling for weapons, and Peeta gazed at the distant merchant ship with a set jaw. Haymitch, hugging his knives to his chest, bent his head to whisper in Peeta's ear. "I'll be watching, boy. Remember what I said, and remember what you've learned."

Then he was gone and Peeta was left to join the crew in preparing for another raid. This one was unexpected. The crew fumbled with hurried movements, trying to ready themselves in time to fight. Peeta donned a three-cornered hat and took the pistol he was offered. He rubbed the pommel of his sword, palms sweating, and didn't even try to pay attention to Mr. Undersea's pep talk. Thresh asked him what was wrong, but he just shook his head. After this, he told himself, there was no going back. This was the raid that would decide his fate. The Tracker swung around to pass the merchant ship and with a hearty battle-cry, the pirates swooped down upon it.


	15. Chapter 15

**Sorry for the infrequent updates! Here, have a long-ish chapter to make up for it. :)**

**Enjoy!**

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As it turned out, the sword-fighting lessons came in handy. Almost before his feet hit the deck, Peeta was charged by a sailor wielding a cutlass. He barely had time to draw his sword. The sailor slashed at his face and Peeta blocked. He blocked again as a strike was aimed at his chest, then his neck. Blood rushed in his ears, nearly drowning out the shouts around him. He couldn't have stayed still even if he wanted to- adrenaline forced him to move. The sailor spun away on his heels, like a dancer on a stage. Had he not been in that particular situation, Peeta might have laughed. He chanced a lunge of his own, stumbling when the sailor flitted neatly out of the way. The cutlass spun in a circle, and the sailor finished the move with several swishing, superfluous jabs.

Peeta mentally took a step back and examined his opponent. The swishing, the spinning… He had either learned to fight from a fencer, or felt that Peeta wasn't a great enough threat to take seriously. Either way, he had an idea. He ran right at the sailor, sword held at arm's length, and the sailor practically pirouetted out of the way. Peeta gave him time to complete about two and a half self-congratulatory sword swishes before flicking his own sword up. The sailor's blade, busy spinning at his side, didn't have time to block the blow. A line of red bloomed on his arm, from wrist to elbow. The sailor cried out, clutching his wound, and Peeta fled.

Someone pulled him aside, behind the stairs leading to the helm. It was Thresh. A smile split his face in two, white teeth gleaming in the shadows. "Tha' was _excellent_," he said. "He was dancin' up a storm, and yeh just cut right to the chase- one, two! And a cut to the arm!" He mimed the action, like a young boy playing swords with a stick. "Yeh could 'ave finished 'im off, yeh could."

"I didn't want to," mumbled Peeta, scrubbing the thin layer of blood from the tip of his sword.

Thresh took him by the shoulders to look him in the eye. "Yeh might 'ave to."

Peeta swallowed. "I know."

Thresh led him back out from behind the stairs, then scampered off to fight his way below the deck. Peeta looked around, sword ready in case someone else attacked him. By now, he could recognize all of the members of the Tracker's crew, if not call them by name. There was Marcus, by the mast, and there was Gale in the rigging. Haymitch was fighting two sailors at once, laughing drunkenly as they flinched from his weapons. Three-Fingers was busy cutting ropes, and Darius held a small chest above his head while he sprinted across the deck, pursued by the ship's captain. Rory was still onboard the Tracker, probably sulking, Finnick was wrestling with a sailor for possession of a frying pan, for some reason, and Mr. Undersea stood at the helm, looking awfully proud of himself as he steered the merchant ship in circles. Peeta's mental headcount fell short. Where…?

Above him, a girl's scream rang out, shrill and sudden. Peeta's breath stuttered. He snapped his head back so fast his neck popped. Katniss hung upside-down by one foot, the buckle of her boot tangled in a frayed rope. Her sheath and holster were both empty, the weapons no doubt on the deck somewhere below her. A sailor had his gun pointed at her, and he snickered as he shuffled along the rigging.

"Not so tough now, are you?" he taunted. "Not so confident without your precious little knife, are you?"

Peeta noticed a jagged cut below the sailor's ear, as if Katniss had taken a wild swipe when she still had her weapons. She kicked and writhed, grabbing for her boot, but the rocking of the boat sent her swinging like a pendulum and her fingers scrabbled uselessly at the snarl she was caught in.

He continued in a sing-song voice, thoroughly enjoying her helplessness. "If this really is the crew of the mighty Tracker, I'm sorely disappointed. Not as fierce as they say, huh? Then again, you might be useful for _something_…"

The sailor cut off abruptly. He looked down at his chest, as if not quite comprehending the rose-red stain spreading there. Peeta's hands went on autopilot as he loaded another shot and aimed once again. The second bullet hit him right on his forehead, above his left eyebrow, and the sailor crumpled. Peeta was climbing before the body even hit the deck. His hands shook as he sawed at the rope. Katniss squeaked when it snapped and she started to fall, but her descent halted just as abruptly as Peeta scooped her out of the air by the waist. He set her gently on the ropes beside him, right-side-up.

He thought, after what had just happened, that he would be prepared for anything. He was wrong. Katniss fell against his side and fisted her hands in his sleeve, gasping for breath. Her whole body shook as she clung to him. Alarmed, he tugged on her arms, trying to get her to lean back so he could see her. "Are you hurt?" he asked frantically. "Show me!"

Then she did pull away, drawing her knees up to her chest. "I'm okay," she said, barely above a whisper. "I'm fine."

Unconvinced, Peeta looked her over, searching for any sign of injury. A bruise was beginning to show on her jaw, and he reached for it. She pushed his hand away.

"I said I'm fine," she snapped. Below, someone bellowed the all clear. Katniss hopped down, then paused to cut the frayed rope off her boot. Peeta followed her a bit clumsily.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" He quickly redirected his sentence at the glare she gave him. "Where's your sword?"

Together they swept the deck, looking for a glint of metal. Eventually, Katniss found her rapier kicked in a corner, and Darius retrieved her pistol from under the stairs. The crew worked to scavenge useful items from the deck before heading below to harvest the barrels upon barrels of supplies there. Upon descending the stairs, Peeta couldn't believe his eyes. The cargo hold was simply stuffed with pungent, red apples, plump oranges, stacks and stacks of bags of flour and sugar, salted and dried meat, fresh water, beer, even little packs of peppermint candies. The pirates clapped and darted between the rows of boxes like children, exclaiming over each new discovery.

The splashes started. Peeta knew that one of them belonged to the sailor he had killed. But he couldn't bring himself to be sorry he had taken the shot. After all, what else could he have done? He didn't have a choice.

Haymitch approached him in the midst of a jumble of orange crates. "Well done, boy," he grunted, and he sounded like he meant it. "I saw what you did up there. Good shot. Bad posture, but good shot." He clapped him on the shoulder, then winked. "Should o' put the girl in danger sooner, if that's what it takes for you to turn pirate."

Peeta spluttered. "Turn- I didn't- I couldn't just-"

Haymitch roared with laughter and staggered away. Peeta sighed. Would he ever cease to be the subject of every joke on the Tracker?

* * *

Loading the loot into the Tracker took a long time. The sun dangled just three fingers above the sea once they finally pulled down the Jolly Roger and shot the flaming cannon ball at the merchant ship. The conflagration blended into the sunset. Peeta set the last barrel down, being ever so careful where he put his hands, and gladly climbed the stairs. The crew gathered around Haymitch and Mr. Undersea for a post-pillaging pep talk. Peeta listened to them ramble about all the food they had now, and how soon they would start looking for an appropriate sister ship for the Tracker- to be named the Jacker, of course. Rory made a formal complaint about the age limit for going on raids, and was shushed by Gale. Peeta announced he would make chicken pot pie for dinner, with some of the live chickens they had taken, and the meeting was adjourned.

The crew vanished to their posts as quickly as rabbits leaping into their holes. Peeta, however, lingered at the stern. He trailed his fingers along the railing, enjoying the evening breeze. A voice made him jump.

"Hey."

"Oh, hi, Katniss." He eyed her curiously, unsure of her reasons for talking to him. She usually retreated to the Captain's Cabin right before dinner. "Can I do something for you?"

She sighed unhappily, and Peeta got the feeling that he had said the exact wrong thing. "It's supposed to be the other way around," she huffed, taking great care in examining her fingernails.

"Huh?"

"Why did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You know what I mean! Why did you save me?"

"Was I supposed to just leave you there?"

She looked mildly confused. "Well- yeah. That's what everyone else does. That's how it works on a pirate ship. Every man for himself."

Peeta held back the comment on the tip of his tongue about the rule not really mentioning women. Instead he said, "Well, you saved my life on that first raid. We're even."

"Did I?" She scrunched up her face, trying to remember.

"Yeah. You shot the sailor that was about to nail me in the gut. So, like I said, we're even."

"But aren't you the big pacifist?" she argued.

Peeta raised an eyebrow. _Why is she so stuck on this? Why does it matter to her so much?_ "Look, you don't owe me anything, if that's what you're worried about."

She gnawed on her lip distractedly. "Right. Well. Right. If there's something I could do to repay you, then-"

He threw caution to the wind. "How 'bout a kiss?"

Peeta had seen Katniss singing, he had seen her ambushed by a group of little kids in the Seam, hanging upside-down by one foot, in her pajamas and in full-on fighting mode, but he had never seen her as surprised as she was now. Her quicksilver eyes widened, a blush rushed into her cheeks and neck and her lips parted. She started to wring her hands, obviously scrambling for a response. Peeta backtracked as quickly as he could, a blush of his own climbing into his face.

"It's okay, I'm just joking. You don't have t-"

Faster than Peeta could blink, Katniss turned, planted her palms on his shoulders and rose up on her toes to kiss him. For a half second, he froze in shock. Then he lifted his arms to enfold her, gently, ever so gently, as if she was made of glass. He doubted the reality of what was happening, but if it was a dream, he didn't want to wake up. Katniss didn't show any signs of pulling away, so he ran his hands slowly up her back, to the base of her braid. She tilted her head back, allowing him to wind his fingers into her hair.

"If you two are quite done," a voice drawled, "I'd like my dinner sometime today."

They shot apart as if they had been shocked, while a grinning Haymitch looked on.

"Darn you, Haymitch!" Katniss spat, wheeling on him. She hesitated, fist bobbing at her side, as if she was trying to decide whether or not to punch him. She decided on turning and fleeing, disappearing like fog after the sunrise.

"Took you long enough," Haymitch commented as Peeta slunk past him, his whole face burning.

"Shut up," he muttered. But as he reached the kitchen, despite his humiliation, he couldn't keep the grin off his face.


	16. Chapter 16

**I'm SO sorry it took so long to update. Here, have an extra-long, extra-fluffy chapter and forgive me? :(**

* * *

The next time Katniss kissed Peeta was in the kitchen. She came in silently, the leather soles of her boots making less sound than cats' feet on the floor. Peeta didn't even realize she was there until she cleared her throat.

"Oh. Hi." He set down the bowl in his arms and brushed his hands on the sides of his legs. "Something I can get you?"

"No." Katniss's fingers wrapped around the end of her braid, wringing it nervously.

Peeta stepped away from the table and draped his apron over the back of a chair. "When's your watch?"

"Not for a couple hours. I'm on at sunset."

"I'm on at ten bells. That's when you get off, right?"

She nodded. Her eyes fixed on something over his shoulder, not meeting his.

Peeta started to reach towards her, but hesitated. Katniss had rules about touching. He knew that, by now. About when you could touch her. To get her attention or pick away a thread on her sleeve. About how often. But, since the other day, had those rules changed? Maybe. It would be easy to find out. He touched the tips of his fingers to her jaw, letting out a breath when she didn't stiffen or pull away. He tipped her head up until she looked at him.

"Are you okay?"

Then she did pull away. "Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes,_" she said with more force, and he held up his hands in surrender.

"All right. I'm sorry."

Her braid slipped out of her hands and swung back and forth as she shook her head. "No," she said. "Don't be." She turned suddenly and peered down the hallway, at the stairs. They were the only ones below deck. Everyone else was up enjoying the unusually mild weather, though that would change as soon as it dropped so much as a degree. Satisfied, Katniss returned and quickly pecked him on the lips. Before she could vanish again, he caught her by the waist and stole another. She was blushing again when she silently slipped out the door.

The next time, he approached her, high up in the rigging at dawn. He couldn't tell which was making his head spin- the motion of the ship, amplified by the height, or her lips. They met each other between watches and rubbed noses under the stairs, because they were other crew members nearby who would kill for a piece of gossip as juicy as the First Mate and the ship's cook sneaking kisses. Sometimes Peeta thought the pirates gossiped more than the old ladies who lived next door back home. Soon, Katniss's kisses became a part of his daily life. She would wait for him after breakfast, while he cleaned plates, and bump lips briefly on the way up the stairs. He would make her scowl by pulling her behind the mast for a kiss, while the crew wandered dangerously close on the other side. They met at the prow and in the cargo hold, emerging some minutes later to go off in opposite directions, scanning their surroundings to see if anyone had caught them. And for a while, no one did. Haymitch even held his tongue, by some miracle, so no one but him ever found out about that first kiss. But all good things must come to an end, as they say, and their secret was, one day, shattered violently into a million rumors and whispers amongst the crew.

This is how it happened. Katniss had been just finishing coiling a length of rope at the starboard railing, and Peeta was on his way back from a shift in the crow's nest. He was rubbing his eyes, trying half-heartedly to keep the residual dizziness under control. Katniss snagged him on his way past.

"Hey," she chirped, depositing the coil on its peg.

"Hey yourself." He pulled her braid over her shoulder to run his thumb over the plait. A canteen sloshed at her hip, and when she leaned against him he could feel the warmth of the metal seeping through the fabric of his shirt. It must have held tea, to keep her warm while she worked in the chilled wind. She smiled, making the freckles on her cheeks bunch up. "What's put you in such a good mood?" he asked.

"Winter's almost over."

"I thought you liked the cold."

"I do. I hate it when it's hot. But it means we only have three months until we go home again."

Peeta tucked her against his side, letting his hand drift from the end of her braid to the top of her head to pet her hair. "You miss your sister," he guessed.

"Prim," she reminded him with a sigh. "Yeah."

"Well, like you said. Three more months and then you go home."

Katniss had spent some of their time explaining the finer details of life aboard the Tracker to him. The visit to the Seam in the fall, which included a feast and, sometimes, a festival, lasted only a day. It was for the sole purpose of depositing the year's 'harvest', and then leaving again to stalk the merchant ships that ventured out in the damp ocean winter. The spring visit, however, was longer. The ship would dock for three to four weeks, Katniss said, and re-supply with things they needed from the Seam- iron fish hooks and door handles from the blacksmith, barrels of water from the river, personal belongings and strips of dried, smoked meat. The crewmembers with family in the Seam, which was most of them, stayed in their own homes, while the rest were gladly welcomed at the inn or at the houses of friends. This was the time to tell all about the past year, embellishing stories with reports of sea serpents and mermaids and ghost ships. It was the time to reunite with loved ones or find a sweetheart to think of while raiding ships for presents. Katniss said they often held a week-long party celebrating the coming of summer, weaving the few, hardy flowers that grew there into necklaces and crowns and dancing until dawn. The way she talked about it made Peeta impatient, like a child waiting for a favorite holiday, even though he had never participated in it before. He was just as ready for spring as the rest of the crew.

"Peeta," she ventured. "Where's your home?"

"On the mainland," he answered. She looked up at him, waiting for him to continue. "It's a small town, not as small as the Seam. Most people live above their shops. There's a road the leads from the town square all the way down to the beach, so you can always see the ocean."

"Where did you live?"

He pushed aside the fact that she used the word _did_ instead of _do_. She was right, he didn't live there anymore. It shouldn't bother him. "Above the bakery. My family and I ran it."

She chuckled. "Somehow, I'm not surprised."

Peeta thought of his home, probably so quiet without any of the boys in the house. Maybe his remaining brother had moved back in, but it wasn't likely. He had an apprenticeship with his wife's father, after all, and would take over that business. So it was just Mr. and Mrs. Mellark in the bakery, now. Maybe his father had taken on an apprentice of his own. Or maybe he was waiting, holding out for Peeta to come home.

Shaking his head slightly to clear away his thoughts, Peeta smiled down at Katniss. She smiled back, one side of her mouth quirking up higher than the other in that way of hers. Without thinking, he tipped his head down to kiss her. She obliged, sliding her arms around his neck so they rested on his shoulders. Her lips tasted of the sea wind, tangy with salt and warm with the tea she had been drinking. Peeta thought, for the hundredth time, how lucky he was to have won this creature, this… mermaid. Certainly, that's what she was. She might not have a tail, but she was definitely a maid of the sea, wild and proud and with a voice sweet enough to capture the heart of any who listened. Maybe Finnick was right, with his tales of mermaids driving sailors to distraction with their songs. It seemed as if Peeta had befallen that same fate.

When the leaned away from each other, they were allowed one second of quiet happiness. And then Katniss opened her eyes. They flicked from Peeta's face to something behind him, and a small gasp escaped her lips. Quick as a rabbit bounding down its hole, she ducked her head, as if trying to hide behind Peeta's tall form. He looked around. He cringed.

Darius was standing not ten feet away, grinning in a way that couldn't mean anything good. With a flourish, he swung around, heading for the staircase. Peeta's stomach flipped. The majority of the crew was, at that moment, gathered below deck, most likely playing a card game or listening to one of Finnick's stories. Katniss dashed out from behind him, crying, "Wait!"

Darius fled, cackling. He flew down the stairs with three noisy leaps, disappearing into the belly of the ship. Katniss came to an abrupt halt halfway across the deck, hands coming up to cover her face.

"Oh my God," she said in a tone that meant horror, shock and embarassment all in one.

Peeta went to stand beside her, sorting through the things to say in his head. He settled on, "Well, it was going to happen eventually."

"Couldn't it have happened later?"

"Maybe, but it's too late now. We should probably go face them. It'll be that much worse if we don't."

She stood still for a moment, face still buried in her hands, before drawing herself up. She lifted her chin and crossed her arms in a defiant stance. "Right."

Peeta stumbled trying to keep up with her as she strode towards the steps, following Darius. Based on the look in her eyes, he feared for the safety of anyone who approached her in that moment. Down the steps, through the hall and into the common room. Peeta gently laid a hand on her elbow, partly to reassure her and partly to restrain her in case she looked like she was about to kill someone. Darius was poised in the midst of the crew, eyes shining mischievously. The expressions on everyone's faces told Peeta that the news had already been told. Haymitch grinned at his bottle, Finnick's sea-green eyes sparkled with merriment and Gale had turned into an impassive statue.

Katniss broke the silence. "Anyone have anything to say?" The way she fingered the hilt of her dagger suggested that anyone who did would regret it.

Finnick, however, ignored her murderous tone and loudly said, "'s 'bout time!"

Someone wolf-whistled. This set off an explosion of voices, laughing and calling out things like, "Who would o' guessed?" and, "Well done, Peeta!"

Katniss, suddenly shy, covered her face with her hands again. Peeta rubbed her shoulder, forcing a sheepish smile.

Haymitch saved them by breaking his empty bottle on the corner of a table. "All righ', all righ'," he yelled, "It's time t' change shifts. Let's give th' lovebirds some privacy. Oh, an' clean tha' up, would yeh?" He pointed first to the shards of glass scattered on the floor, then to Rory. Rory slunk out to find a broom, muttering something about picking up other people's messes.

The crew trickled out, chattering happily. Peeta could just about see the haze of rumors already starting to rise above the crowd. He sighed, imagining the questions he would be asked that night at dinner. When everyone had gone and it was only him, Katniss and Haymitch in the room, the captain sauntered past them with the closest thing to a genuine smile Peeta had ever seen on his face. "Don' worry," he said gruffly as he passed them. "They'll find somethin' else t' talk about within a couple o' weeks." Then he was gone, shuffling down the hall. But before he ascended the stairs, he called back, "Oh, an' kids? Be careful."

Katniss gave an indignant squeak and Peeta turned a deeper crimson than he had all evening.

* * *

Haymitch turned out to be right. For the first few weeks, Peeta was bombarded with questions about Katniss. He repeated the same answers over and over again.

"No, we're not secretly married."

"No, her mother doesn't know."

"No, I don't know what she wears to bed."

Or, most often, just, "No."

The crew seemed intent on catching them together, and Katniss had to start locking the doors to the Captain's Cabin if they didn't want someone bursting in on them when they talked or stole kisses between watches. This, of course, started a whole new wave of rumors, even less true than the last batch. But, eventually, it started to die down. One day, Peeta realized it had been a full week since anyone had approached him to verify the authenticity of a fact. The rumors circled, then faded and died out, like candles melted down to stubs, drowned in their own wax. Less and less people made comments when Peeta held Katniss's hand as they walked or sat next to her at dinner. And then, just like that, they had moved on to some questionable reports of ghost sightings in the cargo hold, and "the lovebirds' romance" was forgotten.

So it was with light footsteps that, on the eve of what looked to be the beginning of a tempest, Peeta stepped into the common room. The hammocks swished back and forth agitatedly, like a cat's tail, with the choppy motion of the ship. Thunder growled and the first fat drops of rain struck the sails with dull splats. His own hammock hit him in the face as he knelt to pull out his box of belongings. He swatted it away impatiently, rifling through his few possessions. He was looking for something. Where was it? Ah. Here. He lifted out the small, delicate box. He had wrapped it in rags to save it from the moisture of the ocean, so the dark wood was smooth and unblemished, and the little bronze catch reflected the candlelight. Peeta sat back on his heels, letting the rags fall away, and gingerly flicked open the catch. The lid lifted without a sound, revealing the circlet. It was as lovely as the first time he had set eyes on it, after his first raid. The silver wires shaped into the likeness of leaves curled delicately around the opal. The pearls on either side seemed dull in comparison to the milky-white, rainbow-laced stone, which was unearthly enough to have been made from moonlight. He gently plucked the circlet from its velvet cushion to run his fingers over it. Good. The silver looked delicate, but was actually thick enough not to bend under pressure. He pushed on the sides, praying it wouldn't collapse, and it held firm. The opal and pearls, similarly, were fixed in place.

_Maybe it really did belong to a mermaid,_ he thought as he placed it back in its box and stood. _After all, no one else could have crafted something so beautiful and strong. _

With this thought in his head, he tucked the box under his cloak, flipped up his hood and ran up the stairs into the rain. The storm was picking up momentum and ferocity. Soon it would be raining so thickly that you wouldn't be able to tell what was rain and what was sea-spray bursting up over the sides of the ship. He thanked the powers above that neither he nor Katniss were required on deck that night. And that the doors to the Captain's Cabin didn't let water in.

Said doors opened at his knock, leaving him to duck in and slam them shut behind him. The roar of the storm dulled into a constant rumble.

"Almost thought you were washed away out there," Katniss teased.

"Oh, you know me," he replied. "One little wave and I'm out for the count. I'm really very light, you know."

She smirked. "Yeah, sure." A kettle had already been set over the fire, and she went to peek under the lid. "Take your cloak off. Tea's almost ready."

Making sure her back was turned, he drew the box out from underneath his cloak, then hung the garment up on the wall. The box he surreptitiously set on the little table by the couch. Katniss poured them both mugs of tea and Peeta went to shut the curtains, blocking the view of the sea rising up almost to the window before rushing back down. White-blue flashes of lighting lit up the cracks around the curtains, illuminating the space right around the window for a split-second. The honey-colored light of the lanterns hanging from the ceiling sent shadows spinning crazily every time the ship tipped. Peeta was enormously glad he didn't get quite as seasick now as he had when he first came on the Tracker.

They sat on the couch, sharing a blanket and sipping their tea. They tried to drain their cups as fast as they could, less time meaning less opportunity for the liquid to slosh out. Katniss didn't so much as glance at the little box sitting on the table until the ship lurched and it slid right into her lap.

"Hm?" She picked it up, setting her empty cup between her feet to keep it from rolling across the floor. "What's this?"

"Open it and see," Peeta suggested. He did his best to sound confident, but really, he was exceptionally nervous. What if she didn't like it? Katniss never wore jewelry. What if she passed it off as some useless trinket? He wouldn't really be that upset if she didn't wear it, but he wanted her to like it… He wanted her to be happy.

"Is it a present?" she asked, picking at the catch with some more enthusiasm.

"Yeah."

Peeta held his breath as she lifted the lid. He watched her eyes lock onto the circlet and her lips part. He watched her gently swing the lid all the way open, exposing the soft lining, and lift out the circlet with the tips of her fingers. Even in the yellow light of the lanterns, the silver shone like the stars. For a long time, neither of them said anything. Then Peeta couldn't wait any longer.

"Do you like it?"

"Peeta, where… Where did you get this?"

"On a raid," he answered. Then, because he couldn't keep his hands still, he said, "Here," and picked it up. He set it on her head, adjusting it until the little point that dipped down rested right in the middle of her forehead and the leaf patterns lay over her dark hair like outlines of frost on a frozen, black lake. The ends tucked neatly into the locks on either side of her head.

"Does that feel all right?" he asked.

She raised a hand to skim over the silver, then nodded. A small hand mirror sat on a shelf beside her bed, and she got up to fetch it. Peeta followed her, pulling aside the curtain that concealed her bed in time to see her moving the mirror about her head, admiring the circlet from all angles.

"Do you like it?" he asked again as she set down the mirror.

Her eyes met his, looking more like the storm clouds outside than the silver on her brow. "I don't really wear jewelry," she began, and his heart sank. "But I think I will make an exception." A shy smile worked its way onto her face. "I like it."

"Good," he breathed, pulling her in for a kiss. "I thought of you as soon as I saw you."

"I thought you said you got it on a raid."

"I did."

She paused. "Which one?"

"The first one I was on."

"You saved it for me that whole time?"

He cupped her face in his hands, taking a moment to gaze at his mermaid. "I wouldn't give it to anyone else."

They both knew he was talking about more than just the circlet.

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**A bit of housekeeping- would anyone be interested in making a cover or a banner for this fic? I certainly don't expect anyone to, but if any of you are interested, please do let me know! :) That is all. **

**Reviews are greatly appreciated. Just sayin'.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Sorry, guys! I was going to update yesterday, but the site freaked out on me and wouldn't let me get to my manage stories page... did that happen to anyone else?**

**Sorry again!**

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Katniss and Peeta spent a good number of hours together. Enough to get teased good-naturedly by various members of the crew. They spent evenings in the Captain's Cabin, curled up on the couch or by the window. They coordinated their shifts so that they could talk to each other while watching the horizon from the crow's nest and sat next to each other during meals. Sometimes, Peeta would stay in the Captain's Cabin at night, tucking Katniss to his side and drawing the blankets up over them. Those nights were the nights they slept best, warm and untroubled by nightmares. Katniss ducked her head and scowled and mumbled whenever they were caught, often refusing to meet up again for days afterwards. Peeta laughed and brushed it off, waiting patiently for her to come around. He openly doted on her, and she quietly adored him. It was a good system.

But all good things must come to an end.

Peeta knocked on the door of the Captain's Cabin one clear, mild evening. His reply was a muffled shout of, "Come in!" He stepped inside, expecting to find Katniss by the fire, as usual. Instead, he found her leaning over a member of the crew, who lay on a cot on the floor. She was wearing a rag tied around her nose and mouth, and her hands were encased in a pair of medical gloves, which Peeta recognized from her box of various herbs and instruments. Every so often, the man would cough into a handkerchief. When he drew away the square of cloth, it was spattered with red.

"Oh. Peeta," Katniss sighed, straightening. She held a bowl of steaming liquid, probably tea or soup. "You're not sick, are you?"

"No," he replied, going to her.

She put a hand up, stopping him. "Then you shouldn't be in here. I'm sorry, but I don't know what he has, and I don't know if it can spread. You'll have to spend some time alone, I'm afraid."

He brushed a hand along her cheek, above the rag. "All right. Careful you don't get yourself sick."

"I won't." She gestured to her layers of protective clothing. "Now, go on."

He left, taking a moment to admire Katniss's circlet in its place of honor on the wall, beside a long tube that he knew contained her bow. Back below deck, he spent the evening with Rory, Finnick and Thresh, playing several card games. He won three times and lost twice. They laughed and jokingly called each other names, cursing each others' good luck. Peeta didn't think twice about the sick man, until the next day, when two more were admitted to the Captain's Cabin with coughs and high fevers. Katniss had her hands full. Peeta brought her tea and some of the ship's precious supply of dainty cookies in her spare moments.

"I don't understand," she said unhappily as she tied the rag back over her face. "I've never seen this before. They're not throwing up, so it's not the flu, but it's too bad to be a cold, and it's not cholera or any type of food poisoning…"

"You'll figure it out," Peeta soothed. "They'll be back on their feet in no time, just watch."

He was proven wrong within a week. More and more members of the crew had been claimed by the mysterious disease, which Katniss had christened The Rose Fever, because of the symptoms- sickly sweet breath, rose-red stains on handkerchiefs and fevers that turned skin nearly the same color. The crew had been small enough before. Now, with more falling ill every day, there were barely enough men to keep the ship afloat and functioning. Those who weren't absolutely needed at the helm or in the sails were recruited by Katniss to run up and down the stairs for more herbs, more damp rags, more cots. The sleeping room was converted into a kind of sick bay, and the Captain's Cabin was left open for days to air out and hopefully not retain the sickness. Rory volunteered to scrub down every surface and wash every piece of cloth in the room. Katniss said no, that wasn't necessary, but Peeta quietly told him to go ahead. It would keep him busy, at least, and at most it would keep Katniss from getting sick. Hopefully.

The day that Haymitch fell from the rigging during a fever-induced hallucination, cracking a bone and bruising his ribs, was the day that the crew seemed to realize how bad their situation was. Mr. Undersea had already been admitted to the sick bay. Now the Captain was down, too. Katniss, busy with her duties as ship's healer, passed on leadership to Gale. Peeta couldn't spare enough time or energy to feel jealous. Then Gale fell ill, too.

There were no longer enough men to run the ship. The Tracker was a sitting duck, carried along by the current alone, sails tied up tightly in the hopes that they would be unharmed by the time they would be needed again. If they were ever needed again. No one was even at the helm. No one cared.

Peeta woke to the sound of splashes. His first thought was that the pirates had gone on an early-morning raid, and was now disposing of the other crew's bodies. He yawned and turned over. Then he realized: there was no raid. There weren't enough crew members on the deck to even spot another ship, and if they did, they would only be able to pray they wouldn't be spotted in turn. He stumbled up the stairs, adjusting the rag he had tied around his mouth- everyone had, by this point, though they had no idea if it actually helped or not- and froze at the sight that greeted him. Two men that had yet to become ill were standing by the railing, holding something large wrapped in a sheet. Two more lay at their feet. When they saw Peeta, they nodded grimly. "Thomas," one of them said. "Mad Mark, and Chaff."

Peeta couldn't drag his eyes off the bundles. Thomas had been the first to succumb to The Rose Fever. The one he had seen in the Captain's Cabin that evening he played cards. That had been two weeks ago.

The next day, more went overboard. Their funerals were postponed. For all they knew, no one would be left to mourn them soon.

They were running out of clean water. The ship was adrift who-knows-where. They had no Captain. And only four people were still healthy- Peeta, Katniss, Rory and Darius. Katniss was the one to call the meeting. They gathered in the Captain's Cabin, which Rory had done a splendid job of cleaning. Katniss either didn't notice or chose not to comment on it. Her clothes were wrinkled and dirty, her hair had long ago fallen out of any semblance of a braid and the bags under her eyes were a rather odd shade of purple. Peeta wondered if she had slept in the past few days. Probably not. The other two didn't look much better.

"Look," she said wearily. "I have a theory, but it's probably wrong."

"A cure?" Rory said eagerly.

She shook her head. "No. I've tried every herb I have on the ship, every remedy…" She sucked in a deep breath. "The point is, I've been thinking. The last ship we raided before The Rose Fever seemed healthy, right? But before that, it had been weeks since we went on a raid. And the incubation period seems to be between a few days and a week, so if we got it from anywhere, it had to be from them."

"Does i' matter?" Darius asked raggedly.

"Maybe not. But it's a clue."

Darius considered this for a moment. Then he drew a dagger from his belt. "I go' this from that ship. Probably won't help anythin', but, like yeh said, it's a clue." He laid it on the desk.

Peeta stared at it dully. It was a simple weapon- almost more of a knife than a dagger. It had a wooden crosspiece and a small, misshapen metal pommel with a symbol scratched into the side. The sheath was-

"The symbol!" Peeta burst out.

The other three jumped.

"What?"

Peeta didn't answer. He snatched up the dagger, fingers fumbling in haste, and examined the symbol on the pommel. Sure enough, it was a blacksmith's symbol- an anvil and hammer. But what excited Peeta was the tiny flower inscribed inside the anvil. He knew that sign. Its larger brother hung in front of the blacksmith's shop- the shop directly across from the bakery.

"This is from my town!"

_"What?_" Katniss leaned forward. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Look, that flower inside the anvil- that's the sign of our blacksmith. His shop is right across the street from where I used to live. That ship must have been headed out from our port!" He thought back, frantically sifting through his memories. "And they were carrying palm oil! That was one of our exports! That ship came from home, I'm sure of it!"

Katniss looked him in the eyes. "That means The Rose Fever is from your home, too," she said quietly.

Peeta's joy imploded like a popped bubble. His home- his father, his brother, the sister-in-law he had never met- all probably dead or dying.

Rory cried, "Wait! Peeta, are you sick?"

"No. Not yet."

"Is anyone else here sick- or getting sick?"

After a pause, Katniss and Darius both raised their hands, along with Rory.

Peeta looked at her in horror. "Katniss!" He cupped her face in his hands. Her skin was warm- very warm. Feverishly warm. "Katniss, no… Why didn't you tell me?"

She pushed him away gently. "It wouldn't have done any good," she said softly.

Darius mumbled, "Just got it yesterday."

Rory nodded. "But wait, wait! Don't you see? Peeta's the only one in the entire crew who's not sick, and he's one of the ones that's been exposed to it longest. He _must_ be immune. And since he's from the same place the fever is, maybe he's always been immune, and didn't know it. Maybe everyone there is." He put his palms on the table, leaning towards the other three, his Seam grey eyes earnest. "If they're immune- if he's immune- it means they've all been exposed to it before. It means there's a cure. And it's in that town." He placed his small hand over Katniss's. Their dusky skin was flushed. "Katniss. I'm sick, but I'm not hallucinating yet. This could work. It might be our only chance."

Katniss kept her gaze on her hands, silent. She stayed that way for a long time. Outside, the light started to fade, casting the Captain's Cabin in the bloody tones of a cloudy sunset. At last, she looked to Darius.

"Well?"

He slowly picked up his dagger and slid it back onto his belt. "Miss Everdeen," he said solemnly, "Yeh're actin' Captain. Whatever yehr choice is, Ah'll follow yeh."

"So will I," Rory stated bravely, sticking out his chest. "What are your orders, Captain?"

Katniss turned her gaze to the window, biting her lip. Then, as if she had decided something, she straightened her shoulders and addressed them in a formal tone. "Rory, get ready to ring the bell. Darius, help him. Be ready to ring it as loud and as long as you can. Run up the distress flag. If anyone is in the area, we want them to know about us. But wait for my command. Also, gather everyone who can still walk. If they're not hallucinating or unconscious, they should be ready to receive orders."

They nodded smartly and bolted from the room.

Katniss gathered one of Peeta's hands in both of hers. "It might be our only chance," she whispered. "I'm going to see if there are any other pirate ships in the area. And if there are, I'm going to ask for their help in getting the medicine." Her silver eyes glinted as she held his gaze.

Peeta knew what she was saying without her having to say it. Going to get the cure from his home town could mean infiltrating, or even raiding it. It meant choosing between the life of a pirate and the life of a baker. Friends and love over family. It meant possibly betraying his home for a filthy, diseased pirate crew. And for Katniss. And she was leaving it entirely up to him. If he said the word, he had no doubt she would call off the whole thing and revert to simply grinding herbs and praying for a miracle.

Peeta brought his lips to Katniss's with minimal resistance. He didn't care if he was immune or not. If he caught the fever, all the better. If this didn't work, she would die, and he would die with her. His whispered against her mouth. "I will stay with you in every storm and every raid. I will stay with you in this." He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Now, why don't you wash up and change clothes, so that you can properly greet our guests as Captain of the Tracker?"

* * *

**Oh noes! What's going to happen now? XD I know, of course, but you don't... Haha. (Yes, I'm evil.)**

**Quick note- no, it's not a real disease. The Rose Fever is completely made up, so don't bother looking up the symtoms. :P**


	18. Chapter 18

Peeta couldn't tell what emotion was more powerful- apprehension, guilt, relief or suspicion. Apprehension because they were less than half an hour from the port of his home town, and he could very well end up fighting one of his old neighbors for the cure. Guilt because they were less than half an hour from the port of his home town, and he could very well end up fighting one of his old neighbors. Relief because they were less than half an hour from the port of his home town, and he could very well end up fighting for the cure. And suspicion because the crew of The Jabberjay was completely insane.

Katniss lost her reputation of only girl pirate on the seas the moment the Jabberjay's captain stepped onboard. Johanna Mason, all decked out in six pistols and at least ten knives strapped to her belt, short hair, a small, torn skirt and a far-too-tight blouse, was dangerous. Her smile spoke more of bloodlust than happiness. Her crew followed suit, from the wild-eyed Gloss to the powerful Brutus, axe-happy Blight to the pair of drifting, pale, alcohol-addicted siblings, the entire crew of the Jabberjay simply screamed _crazy. _Peeta resolved to stay as far away from them as possible. Pirates he could handle. Pirates plastered with blades of every kind and bellowing a mix of drinking songs and battle cries across the deck to each other while they jeered at the Tracker… Well, that was another story.

Next to the tall, fierce, unashamedly beautiful Captain Mason, Katniss was infinitely more mermaid than pirate. She was dressed in sturdy, practical leggings, her favorite boots laced up to her knees and a black cotton tunic drawn in at the waist with a woven leather belt. She had put her hair up into her usual braid, and the circlet rested comfortably upon the raven locks, reflecting the bloody light of sunset. Her rapier hung at her hip and her bow and quiver were on her back. She was elegantly simple, as demure as a butterfly yet as strong and agile as a tigress.

Johanna reinforced this by sauntering exaggeratedly across the gangplank, swinging her hips and wiggling her fingers in a sort of wave, yelling, "See you on shore, Princess!"

Katniss scowled as soon as her back was turned. "Not likely," she muttered. No matter how much they needed the other pirates' help, she made it quite plain that she didn't like them one bit.

When the flags and banner of another pirate ship had emerged over the horizon, drawn by the Tracker's distress signal, Katniss had gone to stand at the prow. She watched the ship grow larger alongside Peeta while Darius manned the helm and Rory continued to ring the bell. Five or six men had managed to drag themselves out of their hammocks, and were sluggishly working the sails. Everyone else was still down below, clutched in the grip of fever-dreams.

When the Jabberjay pulled up alongside the Tracker, lowering a gangplank over the railing, Katniss and Peeta both went to greet the arriving captain. Peeta had put on a pleasant smile, in the hopes of making a good first impression. As it turned out, he needn't have bothered. The captain in question was impressed by nothing on board the Tracker, least of all the people left running it.

"What kind of dump is this?" were her first words. "What, did you kids decide to go for a joy ride and got lost? Is that what happened?"

Katniss was busy sputtering indignantly, so Peeta said, "No. Actually, most of our crew is sick. The Rose Fever took them. But there might be a cure on-"

"Rose Fever?" The young captain burst out laughing, slapping a thigh. "What else do you have, the Sunflower Cough? The Dandelion Hiccups? The Tulip Infection?" She cackled.

Katniss drew herself up stiffly, narrowing her eyes. "If you're quite done being immature, we need your help."

"Immature is just boring people's way of describing fun people. But, yeah, I'd say you need help." She stuck out a hand. "I'm Captain Johanna Mason, and my ship there's the Jabberjay."

"First Mate Katniss Everdeen of the Tracker." Katniss shook her hand grudgingly.

"Yeah, yeah, I know what this ship is. I saw the name on the back. Now, what did you kids need help with?"

Peeta laid a hand on Katniss's elbow to calm her and took the job of explaining their situation. Johanna, for all her brashness, listened to the story attentively. Once he was finished, she said, "So, it's just you four? You two, and the boy and the redhead?"

"A few of our men can still stand up, but I wouldn't put it past them to fight."

"Well, add thirty from our number. You say we'll be fighting?"

"Maybe. I hope we won't have to, though. I'll go ashore in a longboat and see if I can trade for what we need. They might recognize me, which would make it easier. Plus, out of all of us," he made a sweeping motion to indicate the five people gathered at the helm, "I look least like a pirate."

It was true. He even still had his apron on and flower under his nails.

Katniss spoke up. "What if that doesn't work? What if they see the Tracker and panic? What if they attack?"

"Then we'll have to fight." Peeta was surprised how steady his voice was, when he could barely force out the words. Fight? Fight his neighbors? Fight his friends? Take up a sword against the people he had grown up with? But, if he couldn't negotiate for the medicine- if there even was any- he might not have a choice. At the last second, just as Johanna was about to say something, he blurted, "Tell your men not to kill unless they absolutely have to."

"What?" She looked vaguely annoyed, like a fly was buzzing about her head. "Why would I tell them that?"

"I grew up in that town," Peeta said simply.

Johanna snorted and tossed her head, but yelled the order across the span of water to her First Mate Chaff, who was hovering beside the railing of the other ship.

"You'd better negotiate like the wind, baker boy," she sneered, "Because if you're not back by sunrise, I'm not waiting up for you."

Now, as the two pirate ships slipped towards the mainland, silent as shadows in the fading evening light, Peeta leaned against the railing with his fingers laced, trying to sort out his emotions. Apprehension, guilt, relief or suspicion. At last he settled on apprehension. After all, it encompassed most of the others.

Katniss leaned up against him, coughing softly. He ran a hand down her hair, feeling the cool, slippery metal of the circlet against her soft curls, and prayed for her safety. _If I don't get the cure, I could lose her._ The thought sent a dose of adrenaline surging through his veins, as if his body was getting ready to fight for her wellbeing right then and there.

"Peeta," she said quietly. "Go change."

"What?"

"Go change," she repeated, tugging on the strings of his apron. "You look like a cook."

"I am a cook."

She shook her head fiercely. He frowned as she cupped his face, turning him towards her. "You're not. You're a pirate. You're part of the crew. Your home is here, w-with me, not out th-there, with-" She broke off, glaring at her own boots.

Peeta folded her into an embrace, hoping some of his body heat would rub off on her, before he realized she wasn't stuttering from cold. She was nearly crying. His frown deepened from that of bemusement to that of worry. "What is it? Are you in a lot of pain?" She shook her head again and buried her face in his chest. She wouldn't look at him. Suddenly, he understood. "You're afraid I won't come back," he said, slowly. "You're afraid if I go home, I won't _want_ to come back."

_That's why she wants me to wear something else. She wants me to look like a pirate, like I belong on the Tracker instead of in town._

Katniss pulled away and refused to speak, but when Peeta came back up the stairs, after a quick stop in the kitchen and beside his hammock, she gave a short nod of approval. He wore strong but patched pants, a tunic, and a long, black, silver-buttoned coat he had gotten in the Seam. His hair, which was getting shaggy, was held back by a red band.

From above, Rory shrilly announced their arrival.

The Jabberjay's crew signaled with their lanterns that they would wait a ways from shore until Peeta either returned or a battle started. A longboat was lowered. Peeta fetched a small bag of coins to trade for the medicine, then climbed down into the small, bobbing vessel, only to find Katniss already there.

"No," he said immediately. "It's too dangerous."

"What's too dangerous?" she asked, mimicking his tone. "The apothecary shop? I think I can handle a couple sprigs of rosemary, Peeta. Remember, my mother runs an apothecary shop back home."

It was no use arguing with her. She was going with him, and that was it. Sighing, Peeta took the oars and pulled away from the Tracker, which loomed darkly in front of the cobalt sky like a great, black creature lying in wait.

* * *

Peeta was overcome with déjà vu. Except, it wasn't just a feeling that he'd been here before. He _had_ been here before. He grew up here. His eyes were as big and round as saucers as they tied up the longboat at the dock and made their way towards the town. The palm trees rustled and neighbors chattered through opposite open windows, creating a familiar white noise. The sun had gone down long ago, but people were just starting to close up shop, calling for dogs and children to come in. He wanted to cry out in joy at every face he knew or voice he recognized.

_Home, _his heart sang. _Home, home, home._ The smell of oranges and wood smoke. The feel of the shell-paved road underfoot. He hadn't seen this since he left in an impulsive anger many months ago. Now, he wished he had spent more time saying goodbye.

Katniss trotted beside him, keeping unusually close. Her shoulder brushed his and he had to be careful not to step on her feet. Every few minutes, she would glance over her shoulder, towards the dock. Peeta, following her gaze, could just barely make out the shape of the Tracker and, farther off, a glob that might have been the Jabberjay. If he hadn't known where to look, they may as well have been invisible.

"It's all right," he murmured. "No one's going to attack us. We just need to get to the apothecary, find the medicine and go."

Katniss nodded jerkily. "Do you know where the apothecary is?"

"Yes," Peeta replied certainly. He knew exactly where it was. It was next door to the bakery.

His old home drew him like a magnet. As they came close to the apothecary, the smell of fresh bread was overpowering. He wanted nothing more than to go in the side door of the bakery, climb the stairs to his old room and go to sleep. Maybe, when he woke up, none of this would have happened. But Katniss's grip on his arm was tightening, as if she could sense his wish to leave. He took a deep breath to clear his head.

_No,_ he told himself. _That was my life, once. But this is my life now._ He hooked an arm around Katniss's waist and fixed his eyes firmly on the apothecary. A bell tinkled as they entered, and an elderly lady emerged from the back of the shop.

"You came just in time," she chuckled. "I was just about to close up. What can I help y- Oh, my! Young Peeta!"

Peeta glanced down at Katniss. "Hello, Mrs. Beverly. We're here to see if-"

"What are you doing here, lad? Your family thought you'd run off- everyone thought you'd run off! Where did…" Her eyes lighted on his outfit- on the long, silver-buttoned coat and salt-bleached boots. "Did you become a sailor, lad?" she said, less certainly. Her eyes drifted to Katniss next, with her pants, bow and circlet. Her mouth turned down in a bemused frown. Katniss turned aside to cough, revealing the rapier at her hip, and the old lady's frown deepened.

Peeta, in an attempt both to distract her and to keep moving toward their purpose of coming, said, "Mrs. Beverly, we need some help. Our ship has been infected with a fever, and we think there might be some sort of cure here."

"What fever, dear?" she asked distractedly, still gazing at Katniss's sword.

"We call it the Rose Fever. High temperatures, hallucinations, coughing up blood… Does it sound familiar?"

Mrs. Beverly's eyes cleared, the mystery of Katniss and her odd outfit momentarily forgotten. "Why, yes, dear. It comes around every winter. But, everyone is immune to it. It's in the water. How could your ship be infected?"

"Our ship is from a different port," Peeta said carefully. Not a lie. "No one is immune there."

"Please," Katniss called suddenly, fumbling with the pouch of coins on Peeta's belt. She pulled it free and yanked it open to show the old woman the gold and silver within. "Please, we need your help. An herb, a tonic- anything!"

Mrs. Beverly peered inside the bag, then took a half-step back. "Wh… Where did you get that, dearie?"

"Does it matter?" Katniss pressed the pouch into her wrinkled hands. "Please."

Mrs. Beverly looked from the coins to Katniss to Peeta, then back to the coins. At last the carefully took the pouch, lifting out a single silver disk. "This is more than enough, dearie," she said, "Much more than enough. But, if you won't be needing it… I suppose I can find some use for it." She smiled at Peeta uncertainly, then hobbled away into the back.

Peeta let out a breath. Mrs. Beverly had known him since he was a baby. He had helped look after him on many occasions when his mother and father had business across town, or wanted an evening alone. She knew him. And so, despite their appearance and the dubious origin of the money, she trusted him. Guilt won out over the emotions battling in his head.

The elderly woman emerged from the back room with her hands full of cloth bundles, which she carefully handed to Katniss. "Here," she said. "Boil the leaves into a tea and crush the flowers into a powder. Stir it together for ten minutes and give it to anyone who's coughing twice a day."

"Thank you," Katniss breathed, cradling the bundles against her chest as carefully as if they were newborn children.

The fragrant aroma emanating from the cloth stirred up a memory in Peeta. Something he might have smelled as a young child. _Maybe I have had Rose Fever before,_ he thought. _I just don't remember it._

Katniss and Peeta stepped outside together, and Mrs. Beverly locked the door behind them, drawing the curtains. Peeta took a moment to clutch Katniss to him, gently shifting the bundles so they wouldn't be crushed. _We did it. We have a cure. Katniss won't die._ He allowed himself ten seconds to just breathe her in with his face buried in her hair. Ten... Nine... A gentel breeze stirred the palms. Five... Four... Katniss coughed into her sleeve. Three... Two...

Just as he lifted his head, a scream rang out, shrill and hoarse. This was echoed by another, and another.

"The Tracker!"

"Run!"

"Get inside!"

"Send out the ships!"

"They'll ruin us!"

"_Send out the ships, I say!"_

Katniss looked at Peeta in horror. Beyond the shore, the beam of the lighthouse was fixed on the Tracker, illuminating the deadly ship like a beacon. And charging towards it at full speed was a swarm of navy ships, flags high and cannons ready to protect their hometown. Katniss was running before the first shot fired.


	19. Chapter 19

**You guys are going to hate me for this. I'm sorry, I really am. But the good news is, we're just a few chapters away from the end! Huzzah!**

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By the time Peeta caught up with Katniss, she was halfway across the town square, barreling towards the dock. He hooked an arm around her waist and yanked her back, into the dark space between two shops. "Katniss," he said.

"Let go of me," she choked, wriggling and jabbing her elbows. It was like trying to hold on to an eel, but Peeta wouldn't let go.

"Katniss, listen to me."

From his vantage point in the shadows, he could make out the townspeople bursting from doorways, armed with kitchen knives and shovels. They raced onto the dock, where more boats were being sent out every minute. The navy ships drew closer and closer to the Tracker, and the Jabberjay was still too far away to be of any assistance. Katniss continued to struggle as Peeta scanned the scene, chewing his bottom lip, until a coughing fit took her and she doubled over. He waited until she was done, then turned her around and gripped her by the shoulders.

"Katniss, what do you think the townspeople will do if they see us?"

Her eyes flickered downwards, to both their outfits, which were decidedly _pirate_. When she met his gaze again, her expression was troubled.

"Right. They'd swarm us. I know you can defend yourself- we both can- but not against as many as that. We can't be much help to the Tracker anyway, by ourselves, in only a longboat. Charging down there without a plan is as good as surrendering."

She blinked up at him, slowly, and then nodded.

"Good." He let go of her.

Together, they peered out from the alley, watching as the navy ships converged on the Tracker. The Jabberjay fired its first shot, hitting the lead navy ship. Attention was focused on the Jabberjay, and the fleet swung away from the Tracker. Katniss sighed in relief. The Jabberjay backed away, leading most of the fleet towards open ocean. One or two ships stayed behind to circle the Tracker, which still bobbed helplessly, as good as if it was completely unmanned.

"What do we do?" Katniss whispered. She cradled the bundle of herbs to her chest protectively, as if holding on to the flowers could hold off the enemy ships for that much longer. The dull boom of cannons echoed between the buildings. It was impossible to see what was happening, as the Jabberjay and its trail of pursuing ships receded into darkness, away from the bright beam of the watchtower.

It was a long time, made longer by the distant sounds of battle, before Peeta could answer. "I don't know."

What _could_ they do? All they had was Peeta's sword, Katniss's bow and arrows, and a pistol between them. How could they make so much as a dent in the navy's iron-hulled ships and polished-steel cannons? The longboat they had taken ashore wasn't stealthy enough to slip up to the battle unobserved, and they had no other means of reaching the other pirates. So, what could they do on land?

Peeta's eyes roamed over the painfully familiar landscape that he had sketched so many times. The triangular roofs and blocky chimneys of shops, the rolling hills dotted with greenery, the watchtower, the frothing ocean, the-

The watchtower.

His eyes glued themselves to the tall, sturdy shape, marooned on a cliff by the bay. He had visited, once, with his brothers. They technically weren't supposed to be up on the cliffs by themselves, but Rye had been feeling mischievous. He had tugged his two brothers along eagerly, skirting the edge of the precipice until they reached the bridge that spanned the gap between the mainland and the tooth-like rock jutting out of the sea. The watchtower was built at the highest point of this rock, with the lighthouse just beside it. The two buildings almost touched- there was even another bridge, a smaller one, built between them. Now, Peeta traced the path to the Tooth with a fingertip. Surely, with the threat of the pirates, the watchtower would be left with a minimum crew. Surely, they would be focused on the battle raging below. Surely, they would be too busy watching the ocean to see two lone pirates making their way towards them on land.

He grabbed Katniss's hand and towed her behind him as he sprinted across the town, explaining his plan to her in bursts as they went. They cleared the town borders and continued down the old, worn path, which was just wide enough for one person at a time. The sandy ground slipped under their boots, and the sea churned below them. They slowed to a walk as the pathway grew even narrower, allowing just enough room for one boot. Peeta thought, distractedly, that if he ever got the chance he would come back and build a proper path here, with railings and steps.

When at last they reached the old bridge, Katniss didn't hesitate a moment before flitting over it. The damp, salt-bleached planks creaked even under her light step. For Peeta, they groaned like a tree about to fall. He glanced up at the looming watchtower anxiously, but the windows showed no sign of life, and the roof was empty. _Everyone must be on the other side, watching the ships,_ he reasoned gratefully.

He was wrong. No one was in the watchtower at all. No one greeted them on the stairs, no one jumped out of doorways to challenge them, and no one stood on the roof to watch the sea. This high place, at least, had railings, and Peeta leaned against them as he puzzled over this. The little bridge that connected the watchtower to the lighthouse swayed in the breeze.

"Maybe they're over there," Katniss suggested, stepping hesitantly towards it.

"I was just thinking that. No, wait- let me go first."

Peeta placed his feet carefully, exactly in the middle of the narrow planks, as the rope bridge wobbled and swung under his weight. Once at the lighthouse, he beckoned to Katniss. She joined him and together they rounded the building and viewed the scene before them.

The half-dozen bodies standing at the railing on the seaward side of the lighthouse weren't enough to block the sight of the Jabberjay quickly and efficiently taking down the navy ships in its path. It raced for the dock, cannons flashing. The smaller boats of the townspeople were already retreating, some into open ocean and some towards land. The Jabberjay ignored the ships behind it, only firing when its path was blocked.

The Tracker, meanwhile, was under attack. Three navy ships swept past again and again, firing a dozen cannons each time. The cannons of the Tracker were conspicuously silent. Everyone must have been below deck, in the grip of the fever. Even at that distance, they could see the scale of the destruction being wreaked upon the ship. There was no one to defend it. Maybe no one was left. Maybe the hull had already flooded. Maybe, before they even knew what hit them, the infected crew would have already drowned. Beside him, Katniss clutched the herbs with renewed determination. _Not yet,_ she seemed to say. _Not when we're so close to saving them._

The Jabberjay reached the dock, and Peeta switched his attention to land as the tiny, colorful figures that were Johanna's crew swarmed towards town. His heart pounded as he remembered what he had said to the lady captain: _tell your men not to kill unless they absolutely have to. _Would they, anyway? They were pirates, after all. Who was to say they wouldn't just slit the throat of anyone they came across?

The first wave of pirates met the first wave of townspeople. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the brightly colored shirts and flashing, gaudy baubles of the pirates intermix with the more subdued tunics of the people he had grown up with. The mess of bodies had no order, no rhythm, just movement and harsh cries that drifted up to the lighthouse on the salty sea wind. Then, one by one, the tans and grays started to go down. The breath in Peeta's throat rushed out in a sort of choked backwards gasp.

Katniss pawed at him, bumping her nose against his temple as she whispered. "They're not dead- look! They're not killing them, Peeta. They're tying them up. Look at the ropes. Do you see? They're not dead."

Peeta looked, frantically. Ropes? Not dead? Could they be- yes. Yes, there! A strip of brownish cord, wrapped around that man's middle, restraining his arms. And, there, another. Now they were being dragged to the side of the road, some knocked out, some gagged, but alive. He sagged against Katniss. Johanna had kept her promise.

"Thank God."

At his whisper, one of the men at the railing stiffened. Katniss slipped a hand over his mouth, but he couldn't have spoken again even if he wanted to. The man cocked his head, listening. The two pirates hiding in the shadows held their breath. The man gave himself a little shake and turned his head back to the fight below. Peeta relaxed, glancing at Katniss. Her eyes sent him the same message he was sending her- relief, and urgency. They had to get out of there. But they still hadn't completed their mission, their reason for coming to the watchtower in the first place. Peeta signaled for Katniss to stay put, and after a moment's pause, she acquiesced, melting further back into the shadows. If Peeta didn't know where to look, she would have been invisible.

Keeping his eyes on the men at the railing for as long as he could, Peeta crept around to the back of the lighthouse. He put his hands on the wall, letting his fingers bump and slide over the warped wood. Several feet to the right of the little bridge, his hands ran into something. A ladder. He climbed it, wincing at every creak and pop of the old beams. At the top, he emerged onto the sheltered roof, where a fire blazed on a short pedestal. A system of mirrors and lenses had been set up, focusing the light of the fire out towards the sea. Peeta approached the lenses, shielding his eyes with an arm. Stepping between the pedestal and the circles of glass- oh, the air was _hot_ there, burning hot- he gripped the handles on either side. Those were hot, too. As a baker, he had sustained many burns on his hands and arms. The metal handles of the lighthouse lenses scorched his skin raw, but he grit his teeth and stayed silent. He only needed a few seconds, and then he could let go. Hissing at the sting, he turned the whole apparatus a few degrees to the left. The circle of light previously focused on the Tracker swung towards land. Another push. The golden circle now rested near the dock. Too far. Another. His hands were blistering, he could feel it, but just one more push and…

There.

The light now pointed at the space in between the Tracker and the dock, shining directly into the eyes of those on the navy ships. The attack on the Tracker slackened, then stopped entirely. The tiny forms of the navy crews stumbled around, disoriented. Peeta prayed that there was someone left on the Tracker lucid enough to take the opportunity and steer them away. They had minutes, at best, until the navy reorganized and went back on the offensive.

He ripped his hands away from the metal and fell backwards, next to the pedestal. His palms and fingers were lobster red and covered in rapidly forming blisters.

In the single second it took for the scream to reach his ears, Peeta was already halfway down the ladder. His hands didn't hurt, didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing but the fact that Katniss was in danger. In pain. He knew she was in pain. He knew her screams- the way she cried out when she was startled was different from her shriek when she was hurt. His sword was ready the moment he rounded the corner, poised to strike out at anything between Katniss and him. Ready to kill them.

Katniss's captor had a small fish gutting knife hilt-deep in her shoulder. She was fighting, trying to bring her knee up and jab him in the groin, but he jerked the blade every time she moved. Her keens of pain seemed to echo off the waves far below them, but Peeta couldn't move. The man hadn't noticed him yet, hadn't looked up, but Peeta knew him. He would know that head of tousled, blonde hair anywhere.

"… invade our home, destroy our ships," he was saying, yanking on Katniss's braid to get her to look at him. "Filthy pirates. Think you own everything. I'll show you. Just you wait, I'll-"

The tip of Peeta's sword lit on the man's collar bone. He cut off abruptly, staring down at the faintly glimmering metal in shock. Then his eyes followed the blade to the arm holding it, and then to its owner.

Peeta stared into the sea-blue eyes of his brother. He remembered how they used to wrestle. He remembered how they would scramble up and down the rough stones near the cliffs, playing at being explorers. He remembered how they worked side-by-side at the bakery, laughing and teasing each other. And then Katniss whimpered, and the tip of the sword just barely bit into his ale skin. "Let her go."

"P… Peeta?"

"I said let her go."

Sand stared at Peeta for a long minute before suddenly shoving Katniss away from him. She fell roughly to the floor, yowling when the knife in her shoulder was jarred.

The two brothers stood just a pace apart, staring at each other. Peeta lowered his sword. He wouldn't have killed Sand, he knew. He couldn't have. But. He hurt Katniss. Affection and hate clashed dangerously in him, fighting for the top hand. Hate won out momentarily, and Peeta stepped back. He crouched next to Katniss, taking her waist and ever-so-gently helping her up. She swayed, then steadied herself on Peeta's shoulder. For an amount of time too short to call a second, her face reflected pain. Then, expert pirate as she was, her expression smoothed into a blank mask. She lifted her chin and surveyed Sand with an almost bored, regal air.

"You know him?" she asked, gesturing with her good arm.

Peeta looked into Sand's eyes. "Yes," he said simply.

Another form stepped forward from the group of men by the railing, who now watched the confrontation on the lighthouse instead of the battle below. Another familiar face. This one stirring up even more memories. Peeta was struck mute for a moment as the man strode easily forward, as if this was just another day in front of the ovens. He came to stop just in front of the two young pirates, apparently completely unconcerned with the weapon held at Peta's side. He looked first at Katniss, who met his gaze without flinching. His eyes roamed over her dark braid and the delicate silver circlet that graced her brow. He traced the shape of her bow and quiver, frowned slightly at the knife in her shoulder, and lingered on her face, eyes glazed with pain but otherwise as blank and unforgiving as stone. He then looked at Peeta, with his sword, coat and boots. At last, he spoke.

"You got a good reason?"

Peeta looked out to sea, where the crews of the navy ships were quickly regrouping and swinging towards the Tracker once again.

"Yes, sir."

He nodded, once, as if in approval. "They're not killing," he observed. Then he looked back to Katniss, and the herbs still clutched in her right arm. "She your girl?"

Peeta couldn't help the tone of pride the snuck into his voice. "Yes, sir."

Another nod. "Then," he said, looking over his glasses at them, "Make good choices."

Peeta inclined his head. His father had always been a man of few words, but he got his point across just fine. _Make good choices. I trust you to make good choices. I trust that, if you say you have a good reason for this, you do. I trust you._

Katniss's gaze cut back and forth between Peeta and his father. She frowned slightly, silently asking a question, but the answer would have to wait. For now, the crew of the Jabberjay was distracted on land, and the Tracker was about to be decimated. If they didn't act quickly, the Jabberjay wouldn't get there in time and their crew would be killed. Katniss seemed to be thinking this, too. She carefully took the herbs and pushed them down inside her quiver before sheathing the whole tube in its protective cover. The one made of beeswax-coated canvas. The one that was waterproof.

"Ready?" she said dully.

Peeta reached for the hilt of the dagger in responce, but she moved away. "No. It'll just bleed more if the blade is out."

They stepped to the railing, skirting around the group of men. Sand avoided Peeta's eyes, but his father smiled gently, still sending his wordless message. Peeta told him, "I'll come back. To visit."

Katniss took his hand, visibly bracing herself. "You don't happen to know a faster way to get from here to... there?" _There_ was the Jabberjay, currently bobbing near the dock.

"No." Peeta twined his fingers with hers.

Then, together, they leapt over the railing, hurdled past the lighthouse, past the sheer cliff, and plunged into the frigid, foaming sea.


	20. Chapter 20

**We're so close to the end of this story it's sad. Thanks so much for sticking with me, Katniss and Peeta through this crazy, fluffy, pirate-y adventure!**

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The icy sea swirled around them as they struck out for the Jabberjay. In a boat, they would have been conspicuous. Even the tiny longboat they took ashore would have captured too much attention. As two bodies rising and falling with the waves, steadily making their way towards the pirate ship, they were practically invisible. That was the up side. The down side was: Peeta was pretty sure he already had hypothermia. And if it was bad for him, it was worse for Katniss. She could swim just fine, Peeta knew, above and below the water. But that was under normal circumstances, and this was most definitely not normal. Katniss struggled. Every yard was harder than the last, and every few yards, she had to stop to cough while Peeta held her afloat. Once, when he looked down at the water in front of her while she retched, he saw dark crimson plumes mix with sea foam. Katniss's lips were salty from the ocean and coppery from blood when he stopped to kiss her.

That kiss was different from all the others they had shared. While their kisses up until now were driven by affection, happiness, desire, and, dare he think it, love, this kiss was made of something quite different. Fear, sorrow, pain and cold. Their lips, always so warm against each other's, were cold. Their linked hands were cold, their bodies were cold, their throats were cold and bitter from swallowing seawater in their swim across the bay. Peeta pulled away and took Katniss's head, turning it so she looked at him.

"Listen to me," he commanded. "You're strong. You can do this."

Her voice could barely be heard over the rush of the water around them. "I'm cold, Peeta. It hurts."

It physically pained him to hear her so vulnerable. Strong, fearless, practical Katniss. His Katniss. She must have been in a huge amount of pain to be so hopeless. He held her above the water while she hacked again, staining the ocean with more scarlet droplets. Then he looked her in the eyes once more.

"We're almost there."

Her glazed eyes drifted towards the ship, so near and yet so very, very far.

"Hold on to me, Katniss. Don't let go."

Peeta wasn't a terribly strong swimmer. He could keep himself floating, and that was about it. But at that moment, with the Jabberjay looming before them and one of his arms useless due to Katniss's grip, he swore he morphed into some sort of sea creature, with strong limbs and sure strokes that carried them across the top of the water and straight to the ladder on the side of the ship. Maybe Peeta had a little bit of mermaid in him, too. Well. Merman.

Katniss insisted on climbing the ladder by herself, which meant that 'climbing' turned out to actually mean 'dragging slowly and painfully'. But she wouldn't accept Peeta's help. She insisted that he had done enough by carrying her in the water. By the time they both reached the deck of the Jabberjay, all she could do was lean against the mast and put her head between her knees. Peeta gave her a long, concerned look before he dashed up the stairs and leapt into the rigging. Just as Katniss's pain had transformed him into a merman in the water, it turned him into a spider monkey now. He reached the bell in no time, and, without hesitating, rung it. He slammed the clapper into the pockmarked side again and again, not stopping when his arm felt like jelly, not stopping when the pirate crew started to retreat from the land and flock towards the ship, not even stopping when Johanna counted all of her crew onboard and ordered a full attack on the navy ships. Two pirates had to tear him away from the bell and down the rigging, at which point he went right to Katniss.

Her dusky skin was pale as milk, and burning without the chill of the ocean to tame the fever within her. She still sat crumpled beside the mast, occasionally coughing into her hands, which were quickly turning red. During the time between when she had faced Peeta's brother and now, the walls she had built up had come crumbling down. The pain and exhaustion she had been hiding since the day before showed plainly on her face, but she hugged her quiver, with its contents of arrows and lifesaving herbs, fiercely to her chest. Peeta half-lifted her, turning her so she could rest against him. The quiver was now pressed between them.

"The Jabberjay's coming to rescue the Tracker," he told her softly, because he wasn't sure if the fever was making her hallucinate yet. "It's almost over."

All around them, the crew of the Jabberjay rushed this way and that, readying cannons, drawing pistols, coordinating their attack. The Tracker bobbed a ways off, defenseless and peppered with splintery holes from the navy's cannon fire. Peeta was almost surprised it was still afloat. As the Jabberjay drew closer, the navy ships began to notice them. Peeta held his breath as they circled the Tracker, lantern signals flashing between them. Then every one of them swung towards the Jabberjay. He let out his breath. Oddly enough, he wasn't worried about the number of ships coming their way. He was just glad they weren't focused on the Tracker anymore.

"She still alive?" Johanna's tattered skirt and clunky boots came into view. She poked at Katniss's arm and Peeta swatted away her hand.

"Yes."

"Hmm." For the first time, something like worry came into Johanna's eyes. "Well. That's a shame." As she withdrew to the helm, Johanna's strut looked a little bit more like a shuffle. Peeta wondered if the two lady pirates had a history. They were very much alike, after all.

The navy ships lined up in two rows of three, closing in on the Jabberjay. The pirates bellowed and shook their swords at the sailors. The crews of the navy ships, Peeta noticed, looked a bit worn. Their movements were jerky and uncoordinated. Their faces were drawn. _They're tired,_ he realized. _They probably haven't slept since last night, and it's at least midnight by now. And they've been fighting the Tracker since sundown. _He hoped with all his might that this would give the pirates the advantage. The navy ships now flanked the Jabberjay.

Cannons jumped back violently, slamming against their ropes and erupting in plumes of off-white smoke. The seas lapped gently at the hull, a sharp contrast to the violence on deck. The ship was old, worn and painted a crimson red so deep it was almost black. The sails snapped and strained against the rigging, and flapping proudly in the midst of the canvas was a pure black flag adorned with a blood-red symbol: the Jolly Roger. Except this time, Peeta was underneath the feared flag. He wore the same symbol, on a patch on his arm. And instead of cowering on the stairs of a navy ship, he was crouched protectively over the girl he loved, a pistol at the ready. He wasn't a cook anymore.

The ships on either side of them dropped ropes, which unwound in the air and writhed in the wind like snakes. Sailors slid down onto the Jabberjay. After watching the crew of the Tracker practice this same maneuver countless times, Peeta couldn't help but smirk briefly at how clumsy the sailors were. Then the deck exploded into movement. Guns flashed, and the air turned sooty with smoke from both the pistols and the cannons. Peeta pulled Katniss closer to him, scooting back between two barrels next to the mast, so that they were partially hidden. A small moan slipped from her lips, and he realized he had jostled her shoulder. The fish gutting knife was still imbedded in her. The salty swim through the sea couldn't have made it feel any better, either. He petted her hair, apologizing profusely in whispers. Somehow, through their icy journey, her circlet had managed to stay on her head.

One of the barrels beside him jolted. A moment later, a sailor fell into view. His pistol flared and one of Johanna's crew cried out. The sailor turned, reaching for a dropped knife, and in doing so spotted Katniss. He raised his pistol again.

He never got the chance to even aim for her. Peeta's knife had already left his hand, flipping through the air. It struck the sailor's shoulder- for a moment, Peeta was overcome by the irony- and he jerked back, cursing like what he was. He yanked the blade out of his flesh while Peeta jumped between him and Katniss. _If he runs, he'll live,_ he told himself. _If not, I aim for the heart._

The sailor locked eyes with him, hate and disgust emanating from him in waves. "Filthy pirate," he spat. Peeta locked in his last shot, giving the sailor five seconds to leave. _One. Two. _The pistol was still in the sailor's hand, but he couldn't have raised his arm, let alone aim accurately. Not with the wound in his shoulder. _Three. Four._ Peeta heard a click, and his eyes darted down towards the sailor's hand. _Fi-_

A crack, a flash, and then absolute silence. Peeta blinked rapidly, trying to rid his eyes of the ghost light floating in them. His ears rung from the closeness of the shot. But he hadn't pulled the trigger. _He hadn't pulled the trigger._

That's when the pain hit him. Slicing through his calf, shooting up his leg. The sailor must have shot randomly, unable to aim, and hit his leg. His throat burned- was he screaming? The ghost light of the pistol flash was coming back, clouding out everything else. Somewhere, someone was saying his name. Were they crying? He couldn't tell. The dark light overwhelmed him and the half-sobs faded into the sound of the sea, and then nothing.

* * *

He was being carried when he came to. His fingers twitched, and he felt wood- a plank? Rough voices, smothered in sloppy inflections and messy grammar, babbled around him. Pirates. He relaxed. But who? With great difficulty, he pried opened his eyes. Two men he vaguely recognized as members of Johanna's crew carried the plank he was on. One of them fumbled briefly, and the plank lurched. The pain hit him again, just as intense as before. Once it faded to distress instead of agony, he re-opened his eyes. The plank was set down, gently, and someone held something to his lips.

"Drink," a voice ordered.

He took one small sip, then shuddered. Alcohol. To dull the pain, probably. He pushed away the bottle.

"Where's Katniss?"

"Yeh mean First Mate Everdeen? Capt'n Mason brung 'er t' the Tracker, 'long with some fancy flowers."

So, the cure had been delivered to the crew, and to Katniss. But if she was on the Tracker, where was he? Peeta focused on the space around him. He was, obviously, below deck, but in a room he didn't recognize. So, the Jabberjay.

"Bring me to her."

The pirate scowled. "Yeh can' move 'round with yehr leg like tha', mate."

"Then someone carry me."

"Yeh got t' get th' bullet out."

Peeta may have been disoriented and groggy with pain, but his strength was as great as ever. He clamped onto the pirate's shirt and yanked him down until they were face-to-face. He didn't speak- his glare was words enough.

"Righ', then," the pirate said after a few moments, disentangling himself from Peeta's grasp. "Tie 'im to the plank, boys. Nice an' sturdy. He'll be goin' over to the Tracker."

Peeta had seriously underestimated just how painful it would be. Then again, he hadn't exactly expected them to lash him to the board and heft him across the ocean to the opposite ship by the use of pulleys, either. He felt a bit like a barrel being transported from ship to ship. But mostly, he felt like his leg was about to either fall off or spontaneously combust. He managed to stay conscious just long enough to see that there was ocean all around them, all the way to the horizon, and the pirate ships were the only ones in sight. The rosy light of sunrise glinted of the water. Then he blacked out. When he came to, again, they were just carrying him through the doors of the Captain's Cabin. Even with blurred vision, he would recognize the rich drapes, the fireplace and the bed in the corner anywhere.

Someone was already in the bed. Johanna's pirates lifted her by her arms and legs and shifted her towards the wall, making a space for them to deposit Peeta. Katniss didn't even seem to notice. They cut the ropes and slid the plank out from under him, then left. Before they were gone, though, the pirate who seemed to be their doctor said, "Yeh understand, th' longer yeh spend with 'er, the less chance yeh 'ave of keepin' that."

Peeta didn't see what the pirate was pointing to, but it didn't really matter. What did he have that he wouldn't give away, to make sure Katniss was all right?

"I c'n start work on yer leg now, if yeh'd like," he continued. "But it's got te be soon."

"Not yet."

The pirate nodded. "Ten minutes," he cautioned. "That's all yeh get."

Then the door closed and Peeta turned to Katniss. Lifting himself up on his elbows, he looked down at her. Her eyes were open, but unfocused. Each breath rasped softly, and a little trail of red ran down from her lips to her throat, smearing her collar. An empty cup sat on the table beside her. Had Johanna given her the cure already?

"Katniss?"

Her eyelids fluttered.

"Katniss."

She turned her head and located his voice. "Peeta." It was little more than a whisper, but at least she could speak. "The Tracker…?"

"Full of holes. But floating. The navy ships are gone. We got the cure. We're done." He cradled her to his side. One side of her collar had been ripped open to the sleeve, exposing the top of her arm. In place of the knife, a clinically white bandage wrapped around her shoulder.

She smiled sleepily, ending the little gesture with a grimace. "The crew?"

"I don't know. But I'm sure they're getting the cure now."

In her storm cloud eyes, emotions flickered past and then faded, one after another. Confusion, relief, panic. "Peeta," she gasped. She half-rose off of the pillows, clutching at him. "Peeta, you- I saw- the gun, you were shot- screaming- Peeta- what- ?"

He pressed her back down, cutting off her stream of barely intelligible exclamations. "Shh. It's okay. I'm okay."

"But I saw him! He shot you!"

She struggled to sit up, eyes blazing with a fever-muddled haze of determination and fear.

"No. Katniss, I'm all right."

She gave up at last, sinking back into his arms. "But the blood," she whimpered weakly.

Looking down, Peeta stiffened in shock. She was right. He was bleeding. The blankets and his pant leg were wet with red fluid. The pain seemed to redouble, as if just by looking at his injury he had worsened it. He looked away, but the fresh wave of pain didn't stop.

Katniss must have sensed his distress, because she caught at his hand. "Stay with me," she whispered.

Peeta leaned his forehead against hers. "Always."

Katniss surrendered to sleep, curled up beside him, her shoulder gently lined with cushions. Whoever gave her the healing tea must have also stirred in sleep syrup. Shortly after, the pirate doctor came in, carrying a large bag and a bottle. He stirred several spoonfuls of sleep syrup into a vile mix of tea and white liquor, and then stood by while Peeta was forced to drink every drop. While he gagged and spat, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, the doctor opened the bag and produced an assortment of instruments that made Peeta's stomach flip. Long, thin metal hooks, knives of every size, a small saw, forceps, bandages, another, smaller bottle, and other devices he didn't even know that name of.

Two more pirates came in and gathered around the bed. They started talking amongst themselves, gesturing to his leg, but the strong combination of liquids, however disgusting, was doing its job. The words ran together, like raindrops on a window, and dulled in his ears. The last thing he saw was the glimmer of an opal and two pearls, winking like a trio of stars. Then exhaustion pulled him under and he tumbled into a sickly sweet fog lined with silver and glittering with mermaid constellations.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter twenty two will be the last. Just a head's up. :) and also :(. **

**Thank you all for the lovely, lovely reviews and follows and favorites. Even just a tally on my traffic graph means so much to me. You're all awesome readers, just want you to know that. :D**

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The pain washed over him five seconds after he opened his eyes. Five blissful seconds. For one of those seconds, everything was blurred, as if he was viewing it through a rain-streaked window. Then, for two seconds, the image resolved into two clear, bottomless gray eyes, like misty pools of stardust. The last two seconds were filled with a babble of voices, breaking thorough his senses and giving him snatches of a conversation that didn't make sense.

"… had to, the bone was shattered…"

"… more serum ready, quickly…"

"…before he wakes up…"

At almost the precise moment when Peeta registered the overlapping words, drawing the meaning out of them with excruciating difficulty, the world imploded. The grey eyes vanished, the voices slurred into one continuous shriek, and he spiraled into bleak nothingness.

When next he woke, he could tell even before opening his eyes that he had been out for a long time. A day, maybe more. His eyelashes stuck together with gritty rheum, and he had to scrub his eyes with the heels of his hands before they could open, letting in a sharp burst of light. He immediately closed them again, waiting for the throbbing in his head to abate. Eventually, he pried open his eyes, keeping them slits to guard against the stinging light. As he waited for them to adjust, he became aware of his immediate surroundings. He was stretched out on some sort of thin mattress, his head resting on a pillow covered in some sort of rough cloth. A blanket was draped over him from waist to toes. His left leg was entirely numb. Well, the bottom half. His thigh, and the area just below his knee, hurt like, well, something he wouldn't have muttered if he knew Rory was there.

"You're awake," a young voice rejoiced. Shortly after, Rory's face appeared in his field of vision, grinning widely.

"Hey," Peeta whispered. He hadn't meant to whisper, but his throat was so dry it sucked his voice right out of his mouth. Rory helped him sit up and held the rim of a canteen to his lips. This time, it was water. He didn't realize how thirsty he was until the first mouthful hit his stomach. Then, he latched onto the canteen and drained it. His throat now sufficiently moistened, Peeta tried again. "Hey, Rory."

"Hi." Rory passed him a second canteen, which he gulped down with equal fervor.

"How long was I out?" he asked between chugs.

Rory hesitated at this, his grin slipping. "Well… Longer than we thought… I mean, not _that_ long, but…"

"How long?"

Rory rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. "Four days," he said quietly.

Peeta absorbed the information. Four days. Four days! He had thought one, two at the most, but four?

"You had a fever," Rory rushed on, trying to cram his explanation all into one breath. "Not the Rose Fever, but a fever, and your leg was infected, and we weren't sure if it would, um, work out, and you weren't waking up, but your fever broke last night, and here you are, awake, and, um, alive, so, yeah, things ended up working out, I guess." He looked up at Peeta from under his eyelashes, as if waiting for his reaction.

So, that's what happened. His leg was infected. The bullet must have done more damage than he thought. He stretched out his right leg, the one he could actually feel, experimentally. His muscles were stiff, and didn't appreciate having to move after such a long period of inactivity. Then he tried moving his left leg. The result was a spasm of pain that shot up his leg and rendered him unable to do anything more than lock his jaw and clench his fists for several seconds.

When he regained control, he was struck with the urge to see the wound. He wanted to see how bad it was for himself. Rory, a blur in his peripheral vision, made a sudden move towards him as he reached for the blanket. "Peeta, you might not want to do that- Peeta, wait- don't-"

Too late.

At first he didn't understand. He stared blankly at his leg, or, what he could see of it. All he thought was, _What? What? Where's-_ And then he understood. The bottom half of his leg wasn't numb, it was gone. Three quarters of his calf were… just… gone. His leg ended a couple inches below his knee. Bandages, blindingly white and heavily layered, encased the stump in a tight, cast-like cap.

"The gun was fired at such a close range that the bullet shattered the lower part of the bone," Rory said, quiet again. His voice had the too-smooth quality of a practiced speech. "And, you wouldn't let them look at it right away. If you hadn't waited so long, maybe they could have done something else." He saw Peeta's expression and backpedaled. "I mean- it's not your fault. I'm not saying it's your fault. It's no one's fault, except that sailor… Peeta? Are you okay?"

But he couldn't answer. What was there to say, really? And even if there was anything, his closing throat wouldn't have allowed it.

The door opened with a familiar squeak-and-thud combination, and Peeta realized he was in the Captain's Cabin. No other door made that noise. He looked around, really looked, for the first time. The ocean steadily rose and fell outside the window, like the breathing of the Earth itself. Katniss's bed was empty, but a nest of blankets lay piled on the floor beside his cot, with a pillow carelessly tossed beside them, as if she'd been sleeping there. The tang of ocean air was fresh and cold, blowing in through the billowing curtains. Wherever they were headed, they were well on their way. They had probably been travelling since before his leg was am-

No. He couldn't think that word. It was too much, too soon.

Katniss appeared at his bed side, all but shoving Rory out of the way in her haste. "Peeta," she breathed, her hands moving to check his temperature, feel his pulse, brush back his hair. "You're awake. You're all right." She took one of his hands in both of hers, holding it to her cheek. He could feel her smile under his palm. "We weren't sure if…" She let the sentence hang in the air, sending ripples through the room like a stone dropped in water. Then, all at once, her face crumpled, smile stretching into a grimace of pain, and her grip on his hand tightened until it was painful. She collapsed with a low keen, falling to her knees and letting her head come to rest on the edge of Peeta's pillow. Alarmed, he nudged her shoulder, trying to get her to lift her head so he could see her face.

"Katniss?"

She replied with a choking sob.

"Katniss? Kat? What's wrong? Please, tell me what's wrong."

She tugged on his hand, using his arm as a kind of brace to pull herself into a somewhat upright position. She made several attempts at talking, but every time she drew a breath, it rushed out again in ragged sobs. The silver stardust pools spilled over and her skin flushed in blotches of red and pink. At last she gave up, laying her head on his shoulder and weeping openly. Rory backed out of the Captain's Cabin, head lowered respectfully, and closed the doors behind him. Katniss clutched at Peeta's hand and sobbed.

When the worst of it had passed, and her sobs shrank into uneven hiccups, she finally got out what she was trying to say. "I was s-so w-worried," she wailed. "The doctor on the J-Jabberjay said the shock might be t-to much for your s-system. Your f-fever k-k-kept getting worse and w-worse, and y-y-you wouldn't w-wake up, and I thought… I t-thought…" Her words dissolved into unintelligible blubbering, and she buried her face in her hands to compose herself.

Peeta stroked her hair, a motion that was second nature to him by now. "You thought what, Katniss?" he said gently.

The hoarse whisper came out like a confession. "I thought I would lose you."

"No," he said quickly. "No, Katniss. I wouldn't do that to you. You know I wouldn't."

"Not your choice," she mumbled.

"No," he repeated, shifting himself a painful degree to the right so he could wrap his arms around her. "I wouldn't leave you."

They stayed like that for hours, until the light changed and the dinner bell clanged. Then, stiffly, Katniss rose and helped Peeta turn on the cot so he could place his one remaining foot on the floor. He gazed at what was left of his left leg, not entirely sure what his emotions were. There were too many of them, all at once. He was sure that soon, they would come crashing over him like the waves of pain when he first woke up. But for now, what pushed itself to the forefront of his mind was not based on emotions at all. It was quite practical.

"Will I ever… I mean… How will I get around?"

Katniss sucked in a breath, steadying herself. "Well… I do have something. But I don't know what you'll think of it."

She stepped to her closet, sliding open the door with careful movements. She pulled something bulky and wrapped in cloth from between a stack of folded clothes and her medicine box. When she returned to the cot, she sank down next to Peeta, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "Here," she said, shoving the bundle at him.

He took it curiously and started to unwind the strips of cloth. They fell away, slithering to the floor, to reveal a pirate's peg leg. Except it wasn't a peg. It was more like a sculpture- a carving of the bottom half of a leg and foot, with an ankle joint that allowed a small amount of movement. It was carved of some sort of dark, dense wood, and polished until it shone like silk. At the top, straps and buckles were threaded through holes drilled in the wood. Obviously, it was meant to be taken on and off with ease.

"And, wait," she said, fishing in the pile of cloth that had fallen to the floor, "There's one more thing."

She produced a sock-sized tube of thick cloth- was it cloth? Or thin leather? – from the pile. Peeta ran his hand across the mysterious piece of fabric, only to discover it wasn't fabric at all. It was… It was… Something thin, but not as thin as cloth, soft, but not fuzzy, and form-fitting, but not stretchy. "What is this?"

"It goes…" She gestured to his leg-stump. "On your leg. So that the wooden one doesn't bother your skin."

"I mean, what's it made of? But, thank you; that answered my second question."

"It's the hide of a young deer."

Peeta looked down at the gifts in his hands, feeling Katniss's nervousness seep from her in waves. In an attempt to lighten the mood, he said, "What, you just have a leg sitting in your closet, just in case?"

Her expression changed, but not to a smile. She looked hurt. "I made it," she said. "While I was waiting."

Something in Peeta's chest, maybe his heart, gave a funny little squeeze. Waiting for him to wake up. Katniss had carved him a replacement leg, even sewing a sock to protect the remaining stump, while she waited to see whether he would live or succumb to his fever. Now the blankets on the floor made sense. She had probably stayed up all night, days in a row, to finish it, all the while not knowing if he would even be around to need it.

"You don't have to use it, if you don't want," she was saying. Her hands twisted and her fingers knitted themselves together, then separated and twisted again. "You can always just use a crutch. Or, I'm sure my mother has something, when we get to land we can ask her for-"

He cut her off with a kiss. "It's perfect," he managed. If he had to lose part of his leg, and this was the result, so be it. He would just have to learn to walk with one wooden leg. A leg that Katniss had crafted with her own hands. That wouldn't be so bad. Every step would remind him of her.

_A peg leg,_ he thought. _If there was any doubt before, there isn't any, now. I am definitely a pirate._

"Let's try it," he said.

"Can't," Katniss replied. "Not yet, anyway. It's got to heal. They had to- well, I'll spare you. I was still pretty out of it with the fever, but suffice to say I saw enough to know that you shouldn't be on your feet for a while."

"Foot," he corrected, to keep away the mental image she was unintentionally supplying despite her efforts not to.

"Yes, well." She waved the wooden foot in the air. "Feet. You'll have to rest up a bit. Don't worry, that's what everyone else is doing, too. We're all pretty spent."

Something clicked into place in his mind. "Wait, you said something about your mother. Are we going to the Seam?"

She smiled a tired smile. "Yeah. The ship is barely floating. Anyone recovered enough is below deck, trying to do a patch job on the holes the navy blew in the hull. They're doing a pretty good job, considering. We're still on top of the ocean, not under it, and we saved enough of the foot to get us to the Seam. But once we get there, we'll be stuck for a bit. Some planks and rags nailed over the breaches aren't going to hold forever, and our crew's down to half." Peeta winced. The Rose Fever had taken half of their crew before they delivered the cure. Sadness cut through him, but Katniss wasn't done. "Once we dock, the plan is to stay on land for a few years. Repair the Tracker, build up the crew, that sort of thing. Take a nice, long break."

"That sounds nice." Without warning, his head started to swim. Four days of complete stillness had taken their toll. Just sitting up, talking, had drained him of energy. Katniss seemed to sense this, and moved off the cot so he could lie down. She whisked away to the kitchens, coming back with her boots soaked and a tray of bland food in her hands.

"Flooded," she explained, pushing the tray at him. "Oh, come on, eat. I know it's not too tasty, but that's probably all your stomach can handle right now."

He reluctantly ate the tasteless oatmeal and broth, and, dull as it was, he was grateful for its bulk, which quieted his stomach. Then, unable to do much else, he turned his face into the pillow and went to sleep. Katniss crawled onto the cot with him just before he drifted off, on the side opposite his bad leg.

"You know, you're like a mermaid," he murmured sleepily.

She looked up at him, her stardust eyes puzzled.

"Maybe you really are one. I heard you singing when I first came on the Tracker, and, just like Finnick said, I was a goner."

"But no one's ever kissed a mermaid," she said, and he could feel her breath on his cheek.

"Lucky me." He leaned in to kiss her, but he was too tired to put any real effort into it. Then he dipped his head and nuzzled her neck, pulling her closer, and let himself fall into unconsciousness for what seemed like the hundredth time.


	22. Epilogue, Part 1

**I don't know what it is with me and long, fluffy epilogues. I really don't. And the best (worst?) thing is...**

**This is only Part One. :D Part 2 coming very soon!**

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The Tracker had taken in so much water that by the time they finally drew up to the Seam's port, they were on the verge of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. Everything below deck- including the kitchen, storage rooms, common room, even the hallway- was flooded. Peeta didn't venture down the stairs once, for fear of slipping in the knee-high, dirty seawater and falling. He fell enough above deck, using his crutches. Plus, although the cauterized end of his leg was healing nicely, according to Katniss, he still didn't want to expose it to any measure of saltwater.

At first, they were greeted with joyous shouts. The Tracker wasn't due back for a month and a half, and the early arrival was something unexpected and wonderful. Then, as they started to notice the state of the ship, the ecstatic yells turned urgent. Able-bodied men and women sprinted down the length of the dock, securing the ropes the crew tossed down and setting up gangplanks. They surged onto the ship, taking the soggy crates and barrels the crew handed them. Before long, even children came tottering onboard to help, eagerly hefting small boxes and running after their parents as everyone helped unload the surviving supplies. Some of the food items- including most of the barrels of dried fruit and jerky- had perished in the damp, hole-ridden belly of the ship, but a good amount had made it unharmed. The wax seals on the barrels had done their job.

Peeta waited until almost everything had been unloaded to step off the boat. He had been sitting on a mostly dry box at the top of the stairs, handing things up through the assembly line of people unloading. This way, he managed to do something useful without having to be on his feet, he explained to Katniss. She just sighed, rolled her eyes and whisked back below deck to dig in the far corners of the storage hold for any forgotten boxes. When she returned, she passed off her armload to the pirate next to her, then handed Peeta his crutches. He took them resignedly, fitting them under his arms. His armpits were already bruised purple and yellow, despite the rags he had draped over the tops to make them more comfortable. He hated having to walk with them, as they made him look like a cripple- _I _am_ a cripple,_ he reminded himself grimly- and they were a pain to use. Literally. He was counting the days until he would be able to get rid of them and start to use the wooden leg Katniss had made for him.

_It's a strange world where someone looks forward to wearing a fake limb_, he thought to himself as Katniss placed a hand on his elbow, ready to steady him if he started to fall. _Then again, it's a strange world where pirates are greeted as heroes. It's a strange world where a baker falls in love with a mermaid. It's a strange world where 'home' means two things at once._

Home. The town they had just left, with its stern, silent lighthouse sentinel, waving palm trees and shell-paved roads. That was one home. But he had one more. A home of scruffy pine trees cloaked in low-hanging, chilled fog and the smoky scent of coal. A home of mussels boiling in heavy, black pots and wind chimes plinking gently in the wind. As Katniss walked beside him down the pier, the crowd parted for them. Peeta felt the stares being directed at his leg and locked his jaw. He had known they would stare, of course, but when faced with the situation, he found it harder than he had expected to endure their curious looks.

They headed straight for the Everdeen's house. Peeta, momentarily forgetting his mortification, looked at the little building curiously. It was oddly proportioned, with only one story, and windows of unequal sizes at different heights on the walls. The chimney was large, sturdy-looking, and at an exactly ninety-degree angle with the ground. It seemed as if the entirety of the log cabin was supported by that one stalwart rectangle of bricks. Bunches of herbs were drying upside-down in the windows, and a faded, woven-rag rug lay in front of the door. Katniss pushed open the door without knocking and brought Peeta into a clean, whitewashed kitchen. She left him at a chair at the table, then called, "Prim! Mom! I'm home!" as if she had just returned from a day at school instead of two seasons at sea.

A small scream of delight rang out from somewhere down a hallway, and mere moments later, a tiny whirlwind of blonde braids and pink sleeves hurdled through the door. Prim launched herself at Katniss, knocking them both to the floor.

"Katniss! You're here! You're home early! I had no idea! Why-" Her squeals cut off suddenly as she noticed Peeta. He met her eyes and smiled, remembering how sweet she seemed when last he saw her, at the fall visit. Her gaze, of course, drifted to his leg, and then out the window. She stood up and leaned out the door, craning her neck to see the pier and the broken ship that rested there. "What happened?" she whispered, horrified.

"Navy," Katniss said shortly. "I'll tell you later. Where's Mom?"

Mrs. Everdeen, who had arrived sometime after Prim, cleared her throat from the kitchen doorway.

"Oh. Hello." Katniss spared her mother a quick smile before turning her attention back to Prim. "I need you to take a look at-"

She, like Prim, cut off suddenly. Prim was already approaching Peeta. She knelt beside his chair and looked to him for permission. "Can I take a look at this?" she asked with an adorable, crooked-toothed smile.

Peeta nodded.

Prim, with deft fingers, unbound the bandages from the stump and brought a cushioned stool for it to rest on. Mrs. Everdeen joined her silently, and with calm expertise, they examined his leg. Mrs. Everdeen commented on the mediocre amputation job, which Peeta tried to tune out, and Prim rambled comfortingly about some funny thing her cat had done as a kitten, which Peeta listened to with determination. He tried to hear only what Prim was saying, and forced himself to imagine the story- the squashed-face kitten running headlong into a window- without hearing Mrs. Everdeen talk about dirty bone saws. Katniss hovered at the other side of the table, obviously unsure what to do with herself. She looked a bit green, too, and eventually said, "Mom, stop."

Mrs. Everdeen cut off in the middle of her sentence about the importance of sterilizing. "Hmm?"

"Please stop talking."

Mrs. Everdeen, looking vaguely put out, went back to examining Peeta's leg, this time silently. He sent her an apologetic glance, and then gave Katniss a grateful one. She smiled weakly.

They worked efficiently, boiling herbs and giving Peeta a thick, spicy soup to eat. He eyed it warily, but the first mouthful was rich and meaty, with no hint of the sticky sweetness of sleep syrup. He ate the whole bowl enthusiastically after that. Katniss slipped out to fetch her things from the Tracker, and made several trips back and forth. She brought in things he recognized from the Captain's Cabin, placing them in a jumbled, teetering pile by the door, as well as the Everdeens' allotted crates of food and supplies. Lastly, she came in carrying the wooden leg, her bow and quiver, and the box he knew contained her circlet. Mrs. Everdeen inspected the fake limb, testing the weight and strength, before pronouncing it a good substitute and placing it on the table.

Prim pressed a sachet of herbs soaked in hot water against the end of Peeta's leg, and he bit back a sigh. Whatever was in there, it deadened the pain in his leg quickly. He had almost gotten used to the ache, which never really went away, but feeling it diminish reminded him just how bad it was.

Tying up more, identical bundles of herbs, Prim said, "You can use these whenever you want, until it's completely healed. Looks like it should be a couple weeks, yet."

The idea of _whenever you want_, as well as the sweet relief spreading throughout what was left of his limb, struck him speechless. A rare occurrence for Peeta. Prim giggled at the look on his face, gathered all the sachets up in a basket and set it on the table in front of him. Then she said something about going to see the Tracker and left the house. Mrs. Everdeen drifted after her.

Katniss got up from the other side of the table and went directly to Peeta. She pulled up a chair beside him, close enough that the seats touched, and sat down. She looped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder. The position was, by now, familiar, and he took up his usual habit of stroking her hair. Her back rose and fell in a contented sigh. "Home," she said, in a tone that suggested she had just caught a whiff of some delectable scent.

"Home," Peeta agreed. Then something occurred to him. "You'll be staying here, then?"

"Yes."

"I suppose I'll have to find someplace to stay pretty soon. Maybe I can stay wherever Thresh is staying."

"No," Katniss said resolutely, "You can stay here."

"Wh- Katniss, no. It wouldn't be proper."

She scowled up at him. "Who cares?"

"You mother, probably."

Her scowl deepened. "How is it so different from you sleeping in the Captain's Cabin?"

"That was at sea. Plus, it was necessary. I was staying there because I was injured."

"You still are."

_Don't remind me._ "Well, still. It wouldn't be proper. You'll see me plenty during the day, anyway." She started to say something, but he went on. "Thresh has family here, doesn't he?"

"His grandmother," Katniss admitted, "And his little sister."

"Well, then, I'll ask if I can stay with them. And if, for some reason, I can't, I'll come back here. Okay?"

She agreed, grudgingly.

Peeta kissed her on the forehead, and then, distractedly, on the lips. His mind was elsewhere, though. It would be improper for him to stay in Katniss's house because they weren't married. The quickly-growing thought at the back of his mind tucked itself away for further analysis later. He smiled to himself. They would be in the Seam for several years- at least two or three. A lot could happen in three years.

* * *

The Spring Festival started early and lasted an extravagant two weeks. Flowers were plucked from the meadow near town and woven into chains, which were draped around people's necks and over fence posts. A bonfire blazed continuously, fed with fragrant pine boughs. Anyone who owned or knew how to play an instrument joined in the songs, and anyone who didn't sang along and danced around a maypole strung with bright ribbons. Every child received a small, carved toy, and everyone of age was offered a cup of warm, sweet, spiced wine. During the day, people dressed in their finest and wandered from stall to stall, trading their wares. Few actual coins changed hands, but furs were given to the seamstress in exchange for a skirt; the butcher exchanged pounds of meat for new knives from the blacksmith; Sae gave away her soup for free, along with incomprehensible pieces of random advice.

"Don't step on a porcupine at midnight," she'd cackle as someone accepted a bowl. "Always hang your shoes by a window."

Peeta watched Katniss dance with her sister and trade with her mother. Then he sat with her by the bonfire and listened to Finnick regale his awed crowd with tales of sea serpents, ghost ships and mermaids. Peeta had heard it all before, of course, at meal times on the Tracker, but Finnick had since added in more details and plot twists. He even had an entirely new story- one about an elven queen who travelled amongst mortals in search of her long-lost daughter. Katniss liked that one best. Peeta liked the ones about mermaids.

"Castles made of coral and seashells," Finnick said, gesturing with his arms to demonstrate the size of said coral castles. "The mermaids live in them, at the bottom of the sea. They wear pearls and fish bones as jewelry, and, sometimes, coins they steal from passing ships. You might see a mermaid with its tail littered with a thousand clinking coins, all strung on fishing line and worn as a skirt."

A small child raised his hand, as if he was in school. Finnick nodded to him.

"What happens when mermaids come to the surface?"

Finnick's face grew serious, though is eyes twinkled. "They lure sailors into the water with their beauty, and then…" He clapped suddenly, startling those nearest to him. "A splash, and they're never to be found again."

Katniss laughed at the small boy's wide eyes. Peeta laughed with her, although for a different reason. It wasn't so far-fetched, really. He suspected Katniss would attempt to drown anyone who came near her, if she was in a bad enough mood. Heck, he had seen it, once, when she pushed Three-Fingers overboard after he teased her about wearing pants instead of a skirt. She was in favor of leaving him in the ocean, but of course the crew dropped ropes over the side and helped him climb back aboard, where he said a solemn apology.

At night, when the bonfire seemed to blaze brighter than the sun, more stories were told by more people. Some were fairytales and retellings of old adventures, like Finnick's, but when the children went off to bed, the talk changed to ghosts and monsters lurking in the deep. Katniss scoffed at all of them, but Peeta noticed that her grip on his hand was a little tighter than usual when the group broke up to drift back to their respective homes. He kissed her lightly and said, "Good night. Don't let Blackbeard's ghost get you."

"That's not funny," she muttered, running one hand up the other arm.

Peeta chuckled, kissed her again and made his slow way back to Thresh's house, where he had been staying. The day drew to a close with a quick card game between him, Thresh, Rue and their grandmother. Thresh won.

For two weeks, it was like this. Dancing and trading during the day and storytelling and card games at night. By the end of the two weeks, everyone was low on sleep, and not a single person got up before noon the day after. But the tired faces were also happy. The Tracker was home, Spring was in full-fledged warmth, and all was right in the world.

* * *

The first time Peeta tried out his new leg, the first step was excruciating and clumsy. He nearly fell flat on his face, and would have, if not for the convenient table he grabbed a hold of. The second step wasn't any better- in fact, it hurt more, if possible- and the third was the same. But he wouldn't give up. He insisted on hobbling around the table, leaning on it heavily with both hands. Pain aside, it was indescribably wonderful to be _walking_ again, not swinging himself forward on crutches every other step. He hated having to sit down after just one lap around the table and ease the leg off. Katniss scolded and congratulated him simultaneously for trying to walk. He accepted the sachet Prim offered him, unable to keep the grin off his face.

The next time, approximately half a week later, he completed two laps around the table. A week later, he made it to three. Then four. Soon, he could stagger from the room he shared with Thresh to their kitchen without the crutches. Not many days after that, he could make it to the latrine and back. It was four weeks before he grew comfortable enough with his new limb to make the trip from Thresh's house to the Everdeens'. During that month, the pirates worked like honey bees. They went to work on the Tracker, hauling it up onto the rocky beach and slowly draining it of seawater. They set up a giant frame for it to sit in while they labored to repair the holes in its sides and replace the molded wood below deck. Peeta took the job of sitting on a stool next to the cannonball holes, pulling shards of wood free from the gaps with thick leather gloves. He worked when everyone else worked, which was most fair-weather days from morning to evening. Even with the gloves, his hands developed calluses from gripping and pulling the abrasive chunks of wood. One evening, when sunset was drawing near and the crew was putting away their tools, Haymitch called a meeting. They gathered in the town center, along with the majority of the town.

"Righ'," he said gruffly. "'Ere's the long an' short o' it. The Tracker's busted up real bad. T' fix 'er, we'd have to make 'er a whole new keel, and hull besides. It would take less time just t' build a new ship. Now, Mr. Undersea and I 'ave been talkin', and we decided we'd put it up t' you. We can either try to fix the Tracker, or we can retire 'er and start lookin' for a new ship to be the Jacker. Cast yer votes. Hands up for retirin' 'er."

At first, no one moved. Peeta stared at the calluses on his palms, contemplating. It would be a shame to just give up on the Tracker, especially after all the work they'd already done. But to fix it would take years upon years, and even then, it would never be quite as good as it was before. He raised his hand. Other people were putting their hands up, too. More and more. Haymitch didn't have to count to know that the _yes_ votes were in the majority, but he did anyway. "All righ', then," he said, a little sadly. "We'll clean 'er out tomorrow."

That they did. Peeta, carrying a cane Thresh's grandmother had good-naturedly lent him, went through the Captain's Cabin with Katniss, stripping it of every rug, tapestry, cup, blanket, map, chair and quill they could find. It was hard, back-breaking work. Prying things off the walls that were designed to stay there in the fiercest ocean storm, carrying heavy pieces of furniture down the gangplank and through the Seam (with the help of various townspeople), scrubbing down the floor and washing the windows… Everything was doubly hard, of course, because of Peeta's new, ungainly leg. He had to sit down often, continuing his work on a chair, if he could, but he gently refused Katniss's help. "I'll have to live with this for the rest of my life," he reminded her. "It won't get any easier if I don't try to get used to it."

As hard as the work was, the result more than made up for Peeta's sore back and sorer leg. Once the Captain's Cabin was completely bare, down to every thread and nail in the wall, they went back to the Seam. Outside of the Everdeens' house was a heap of everything that used to be in the Captain's Cabin. Rolled-up carpets lay across sturdy, intricately-carved wooden chairs, and maps of the seas and lands of the world lay carelessly spread out next to carefully embroidered silk pillows. Katniss had long since taken her favorites and filled her house with them. Now, the small, whitewashed kitchen had simple silver cups in the cupboard, the living room had rich, red and gold tapestries on the walls, and her mother's bedroom had soft cushions and elegant woven blankets. Katniss kept the desk, one chair and a map for herself. The then presented Prim with the very best. Prim, in return, tried to refuse the finery, but Katniss would hear none of it. Prim's room was filled with everything Katniss had been saving for her: a delicate gold brush and mirror set, a cheerful, expertly done painting of a red-haired mermaid sitting in a cove, a pretty porcelain oil lamp, a feather-stuffed, cherry-red quilt, a leather journal stamped with a sun and moon pattern, and good-quality quills and dark blue ink to go with it. The list went on even after that. Prim wept at the gifts, taking time to look over each one with utmost care and attention, and Katniss looked happier than Peeta had ever seen her.

The rest, still in a pile outside, was given away. Katniss scrawled the words, "Take what you want" on a large piece of paper and tacked it to a tree near the pile. By the next morning, the pile was gone, and so was the sign. Now, most of the houses in the Seam contained at least one jeweled cup or embossed picture frame.

When the Tracker had been completely cleaned out, with every usable object stripped from it, everyone took up a saw or axe and started to take it apart for firewood. The only thing left intact was part of the stern, where the name was painted on. This they carefully separated from the rest of the ship and carried into town, where it was displayed proudly beside the main road. Children left little gifts, like offerings, beside it- bunches of flowers and clumsy drawings- while adults took a moment to caress the salt-bleached wood as they passed by.

Meanwhile, the search for a suitable Jacker was postponed. The pirates were still mourning the loss of their first ship, and not done enjoying their time with loved ones. Thresh spent every spare moment with his younger sister, Rue. They were almost as attached as Katniss and Prim. Haymitch had barely dragged himself out of the pub, except to occasionally help out with the Tracker, since they had arrived. Gale and Rory tumbled through town with their large family, laughing and pushing each other the whole time. If Peeta had thought two Hawthornes were bad, it was nothing compared to all five of them at once. Even the youngest, Posy, toddled after her siblings, giggling madly at every joke, most of which she couldn't possibly have understood. Mr. Undersea turned out to have a daughter- a daughter which Gale, as Peeta was a bit surprised to see, seemed to have found as a sweetheart of his own. Madge, a girl with coloring more similar to the inhabitants of Peeta's home town than the Seam, quietly glued herself to Gale's arm when he arrived, and that was that. Peeta felt a bit guilty about it, but he was enormously glad that Gale didn't seem to be after Katniss's affections anymore- if he ever was. Finnick had reunited with his Annie, and they were engaged, to be married in Autumn. The idea in the back of Peeta's mind pushed itself to the front, but he told himself to wait. There were still lots of things to do before that could happen, after all.


	23. Epilogue, Part 2

_**HAVE YOU GUYS SEEN THE NEW CATCHING FIRE TRAILER?!**_** OH. MY. GOD. I had no idea it was coming. I just checked my youtube subscriptions, yesterday, just before I went to bed, and... What's this? Polandbananas20 had a Catching Fire International Trailer reaction out. I immediately went and watched it, and... you guys. Just... Oh, my god. So perfect. It was better than the first Catching Fire trailer. It was better than any Hunger Games trailer yet. I couldn't not speak. If anyone would like to freak out with me about it, feel free to shoot me a PM, and we can discuss the finer details of the two minutes and twenty-four seconds that just entered our lives and made them infinitely more awesome. :D :D :D**

* * *

**Super-fluffy, long epilogue... Part 2. ;)**

**(Because I just wanted to write so much Seam Fluff that I couldn't contain it all in one chapter.)**

* * *

There happened to be an empty house at the edge of the Seam, near the forest. It used to be a shop, but the family that owned it had died out, and it was far enough from the town center that no one thought it was a convenient location. Therefore, it had been boarded up and left alone for nearly a decade. Peeta did some asking around, discreetly, and when he found that no one really owned or wanted it, he took a sign, painted his last name on it and hammered it into the ground in front of the building. It was, officially, his. No paperwork required. That's the way things were, in the Seam. Simple.

The building was also simple. A rough square, it had two floors and a cellar. The cellar was the worst. During the ten years' vacancy, it had been completely reclaimed by mold, spiders and dust. Of course, so had the rest of the house. But the cellar had no windows to throw open to air out and let in light. Peeta had to hang a lamp from the ceiling and rely on the propped-open trap door to allow the stale air to slowly circulate. He scrubbed, mopped, dusted and scraped, even going so far as to take a tip from Mrs. Everdeen and sterilize everything with scalding water and alcohol. Thresh, Finnick, and even Darius offered to help, and he accepted gratefully, upon one condition: that the house, and his owning of it, was to be a secret. It wouldn't remain a secret for long, of course, what with the sign posted out front, but so far the only people who knew were Thresh and his family, Finnick, Annie, Darius and Mrs. Everdeen. Katniss, as of yet, suspected nothing. Peeta made sure to work on the house only when she was out of town, wandering in the woods or hunting with Gale. He knew she would find out sooner or later, most likely sooner, but for now, the house remained a secret.

Katniss and Peeta met every evening, when Peeta emerged out of the old house and Katniss returned from the woods. They walked along the rocky beach together, gathering mussels or stones to line the outdoor fire, and talked. Peeta was careful to say nothing of the house, instead filling her in on the daily adventures of Rue as she scampered up trees to look at bird nests or went to have a tea party with Prim and their collective dolls. He told her the news from the mines- apparently, a new vein had been discovered to the east, and the miners were wearing themselves to the bone digging out the unexpected wealth of coal. She told him about the mother bear she had encountered, and how it had chased her up a tree, following her halfway up the trunk before getting bored and going back to its cubs. They snuck kisses and watched the ocean for the whales that occasionally spat plumes of water towards the sky. Then they went back to the Seam for dinner, often eating together, and retired to their own houses. For Peeta, that sometimes meant his shared room with Thresh, and sometimes meant more work on the house by the woods. For Katniss, that meant many a sigh and grumble as she was chased inside by her mother.

It was July- the beginning of the end of Summer. Fall came early here, on the little island, dozens of miles from the northern mainland, and Winter came even sooner after that. Summer was just a few short months. Peeta didn't have much time left. Fortunately, Katniss was just as busy as he was. She delved deeper into the woods every day, coming back with her foraging bag bursting with herbs, roots, fruits and berries. More often than not, Gale accompanied her, carrying the other half of the day's spoils- a doe, slung across his shoulders, or a belt strung with rabbits, or wild turkeys tied together at the feet. The townspeople's gardens, too, were starting to ripen. Squash, beets, beans and carrots were harvested in great masses, while canning jars were brought out and dusted, ready for use. Peeta, finally finished with the cleaning portion of his project, moved on to furnishing. He fixed up the old oven in the back of the first floor, promising himself he'd add more later, and traded the woodsmith freshly cut logs for a full set of furniture. The woodsmith, a tall, muscled woman named Purnia, was more than generous. She insisted that Peeta accept her offer of shelves, a table, chairs, a bed and cupboards for just three trees. Peeta suspected that her excessive trade was due to his leg, and tried to talk her into letting him work off the debt, but she shook her head firmly, told him he was being absurd and left, taking her cart full of newly cut wood with her. Peeta spent the rest of the week setting up the shelves in the front, the cupboards and table and chairs in the back and the bed upstairs. That was the trickiest. He ended up lifting it up the stairs sideways, with the help of all three of his companions.

Summer ended with a cavalcade of increasingly violent storms, which swept in from the sea and pounded the Seam with rain, hail and lightning for days on end. Peeta was exceptionally glad he had finished the windows weeks ago. Autumn arrived, gray and dreary, and the leaves on the few deciduous trees seemed to turn straight from green to brown, with no bright orange or yellow in-between. Prim, Rue and the younger Hawthornes went back to school in the three-room schoolhouse on the main road, much to their displeasure, and Katniss stopped bringing in food and started canning, smoking and drying it alongside her mother. Peeta used their little wood-burning oven to bake pumpkin pies and apple tarts, which he distributed equally to the Everdeens and Thresh's family. At Katniss's suggestion, he saved some for the Hawthornes, too.

Winter arrived overnight. One day, it was damp and rainy, with a chill wind here and there to numb fingers and noses, and the next, a foot of snow smothered the ground and ice coated every surface. Prim burst through the door, Rue at her heels, all bundled up in four layers of coats and sweaters. Together they seized Peeta's hands and dragged him out the door, each chattering animatedly. They then did the same to Katniss, and the four of them ended up on the stretch of powdery white that used to be the meadow.

"It's freezing cold out here," Katniss snapped. "All we're going to do is get our clothes wet. Why can't we stay inside, where it's warm, like sane people?"

"Let's build a snowman," Prim pleaded. "Oh, let's! Come on, Katniss!" Rue chimed in with a, "It'll be so much fun!"

Faced with two pairs of big, imploring eyes, Katniss caved. "Oh, all right," she sighed. "One."

They built five. A snowman, a snowwoman, two snowchildren and a snowcat. "Buttercup," Prim giggled, referring to her ugly, squash-yellow pet.

Rue fall in the snow and started making a snow angel, and Prim toppled after her. Peeta fell, too, but that had more to do with the fact that he was unaccustomed to walking on the ice with his new leg. Katniss flopped down next to him, rosy-cheeked and smiling.

"Admit it, this was a good idea," he said, poking her.

She wriggled away, pulling her brows down in a frown. "I still think we're all idiots," she sniffed. "We should be inside, not out in this cold."

"Yes, how horrible," he quipped, "We're having fun. It's a catastrophe."

She dumped snow down the back of his coat in response.

Soon after, Katniss shooed the girls inside, leaving them with cups of hot cocoa (courtesy of Peeta). She started to walk him back to Thresh's house, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Let's go this way," he said, pointing them down the main road, towards the forest.

She looked at him warily. "Why?"

"Just trust me."

She pursed her lips, as if this was a huge inconvenience, but followed him towards the old house. They passed the meadow, where the snowmen stood, then took a turn and followed the quickly-fading road through the sparse, snowy trees. When they came within sight of the house, Katniss's head snapped around to stare at him suspiciously. He smiled at her. She stopped dead when they reached the sign beside the path, which was, by now, faded, but still legible. Her lips parted long before she could speak.

"Peeta- you- this is- why didn't you tell me about this?" she sputtered.

"I wanted it to be a surprise." He led her past the sign and up the steps of the front porch. "Come on."

Inside, blue curtains were drawn over the windows, but it was still light enough to see the shelves, standing bare against the walls. The counter, leftover from the last occupant, was polished and equipped with a coin collector, which had also been left in the house. They walked through the doorway, to the back, and then up the stairs. Katniss followed as if in a daze, silently taking in everything around her. It was cold, as the fireplace was still and empty, and Peeta hadn't used the oven in days, but they had their coats.

"It's still pretty empty," he said as they wandered through the shiny-clean upstairs rooms. "It needs more furniture, and rugs and things on the walls, of course. I'm still working on that."

Katniss looked around quietly for a moment before asking, "Is it going to be a bakery?"

"I was thinking that's what I would do with it, yeah," he answered.

"Oh." She looked sad for the shortest moment, then quickly covered it up. "Well, I suppose this means you won't be coming with us on the Jacker, whenever we find it. You'll be busy here."

"I can find an apprentice to take care of it for me while I'm gone," he said easily. "Vick was talking about finding a job earlier. I bet he'd be willing to work, if I offered."

Katniss's eyes lost their tight, agitated look. "So… You will be on the Jacker?"

"If you are."

The answer seemed to surprise her, and she stuttered for a moment before saying, "You won't have to stay with Thresh anymore, at least."

"True." He took her hands and pulled her a step towards him. "But I might get lonely, living in this big, old house by myself in the meantime."

"It's... not that big," she said, perplexed.

Peeta couldn't help but chuckle at the fact that, even now, Katniss could be so clueless. It could be frustrating, at times. Now it was endearing. She scowled, hating that he was laughing at her, and he forced down the chuckle. "Katniss," he started, suddenly nervous. "My birthday was last month, and you turn eighteen this spring."

"Yes," she said slowly, obviously still confused. "And?"

"I have a house, and, soon, a business."

"Also true."

"Will you marry me?"

Katniss looked as if she'd just been hit in the head with a frying pan. "What?"

"Will you marry me?" he repeated patiently, knowing it would take her a few moments to respond. "I can support us, now, with the bakery, and we'd have a proper place to live. So... will you?"

"I- yes," she blurted, appearing as if a second frying pan had struck her. "Yes." She was nodding, as if she didn't trust her mouth to say the word correctly, and Peeta had to still the movement by taking her head in his hands to kiss her.

* * *

Katniss wore her hunting boots under her mother's dress, along with her circlet on her brow and her rapier at her hip. Peeta baked the bread for their toasting, in the tradition of the Seam, and Prim acted as the flower girl, in the tradition of Peeta's town. Most of the remaining pirate crew attended, as well as the Hawthornes, Thresh's family and Greasy Sae. The rings they wore were plain bands, gold for Peeta and silver for Katniss, crafted by the Seam blacksmith and engraved with a sun and moon, respectively. After they all had a bite of cake, which Peeta had also baked ahead of time, the guests dispersed and Katniss and Peeta retreated into their house.

The next day, Peeta added yet another letter to the pile of envelopes on the upstairs desk, which were all addressed to his family. He wrote one every couple of weeks, with the hope that, when they set sail, he would be able to deliver them.

During the winter and early spring, they worked hard to fill the house with everything a home needs: cups and dishes, pillows and blankets, lamps, paintings and books. From the front porch, they could just barely hear the sea, and from the back, the rush of wind through branches.

That summer, as the search for the Jacker began, Peeta opened the bakery on the lower floor. Katniss continued to hunt. Prim brought them pretty seashells to put on their mantelpiece. Above the mantelpiece, held on the wall with pegs, hung Katniss's rapier next to Peeta's selection of throwing knives, ready to be taken down when they returned to the sea. However, it was another year before that happened, and in that year, the bakery prospered and Katniss and Peeta spent every moment together. Katniss's taciturn presence was softened by Peeta's easygoing one, and by the time it was, at last, the day they were to set sail on the newly acquired Jacker, she seemed almost reluctant to leave.

"We don't have to go," Peeta murmured as her hand lingered on the doorknob. "We could stay right here."

The idea sparked a longing in him so intense he had to swallow repeatedly to keep the rising words from coming out of his mouth. _We could stay in the Seam. Haymitch can choose a new First Mate. We could give up being pirates. Raise children…_

But Katniss was a maid of the sea, and she resolutely stepped down the road. "No. Our duty is to the ship."

They joined the rest of the crew at the pier, saying their goodbyes to a tearful Prim, subdued Rue and quiet Mrs. Everdeen. "We'll see you in the fall," Katniss said, but she sounded about as enthusiastic about her little sister about her leaving.

They boarded the Jacker, a short, compact, quick vessel, and moved about, helping the crew prepare to set sail. After two years on land, the toss of the deck under Peeta's feet was unnerving, and the feel of rope and canvas under his fingers was foreign. The anchor was raised, the sails were dropped and the Jacker slid smoothly away from the dock. Peeta joined Katniss at the helm, where she stood looking out over the ocean.

"We're off," he said, forcing his voice to sound cheerful.

Katniss picked up on the false note and looked away from the sea. She gazed up at him for a long time, her eyes saying something Peeta couldn't decipher. Then, very deliberately, she took the rapier from her belt and approached Mr. Undersea, who was managing the helm with a loose grip. Haymitch stood nearby.

"Mr. Undersea," she said, her tone light and informal, "Here's your position back." She handed him the sword, hilt first, and he took it hesitantly.

"What're you on about, girl?"

She ignored him, turning instead to Haymitch. "I won't miss you in the slightest," she jested. Or, at least, Peeta thought it was a jest. She might have been completely serious.

Haymitch eyed her. "Ya know," he said gruffly, "I figured ya migh' do somethin' like this. Saw th' look on yer face."

Peeta, only just understanding what Katniss was doing, said, "We're already out of the port, Kat."

Something like laughter came into her eyes. "Never stopped us before."

With that she climbed up on the railing, throwing her pistol to the ground, and jumped. Peeta followed her with a, "Thanks for not murdering me when you had the chance," thrown at Haymitch. He found, soon after, that swimming with one leg wasn't much fun.

As they struck out for land, Peeta said, "What on earth possessed you to do that?"

"Isn't this what you wanted?" she replied a bit crossly.

"Yes, but I never thought you'd actually do it. After we already set sail, no less."

She shook her head, flicking the errant strands of hair out of her eyes. "I thought you knew by now never to expect anything rational from me."

Upon reaching the shore, Peeta enlisted the help of several of the bewildered townspeople and promptly took a longboat out to the Jacker, which waited for them just beyond the small bay.

"Make up yer mind," Haymitch bellowed from deck. "Are ye comin', or not?"

"Not!" Peeta yelled up, "But take these!"

He climbed up the ladder they dropped and gave him the sack full of envelopes he carried. "For my family," he explained. "Can you make sure they get them?"

"No promises," Haymitch grunted, but he tucked the bag carefully away in the Captain's Cabin. The longboat was already on its way back to shore by the time he came back out.

That evening, they stared into the fireplace and sipped mint tea, both a little stunned at the events of the day. It wasn't such a bad life, Peeta reflected. Running the bakery in the Seam was like indirectly continuing his father's business. He could support them with it, and Katniss would gather extra food and supplies from the woods. He could stay in contact with his family, hopefully, via letters, and Katniss would get to be near her little sister. Not the life he had envisioned as a boy, but not a bad one.

Peeta pulled the tie off Katniss's braid and started to undo it, ignoring her protests.

"You never actually answered my question," he said. "Why did you do it?"

Without hesitating, she said, "Prim. You." She thought for a moment. "I always did like the forest better than the ocean. And… Maybe I'm tired of fighting all the time."

It was a long time before either of them spoke again. Then, Katniss's mouth twisted up mischievously. "Anyway, it's better if we're here. My mother would throw a fit if she found out I went out on the ocean with the kid coming."

Peeta nodded absently. Then, he actually processed what he had heard, and stared at her. "… kid?"

Katniss was already standing up, but Peeta pulled her right back down for a long kiss.

Not a bad life, at all.

* * *

**Wait, don't go yet! I have an announcement. **

**Thank you ALL for reading. All of your lovely reviews and PMs mean so much to me. Even those of you who show up with just a tally on my traffic graph. Thank you to every single one of you.**

**Now for the announcement. I will, very shortly, be starting work on my first-ever ****_crossover_****. (Oooh, aaahh.) It's a Hunger Games crossover, but I won't say what the other book is... Yet. Suffice to say, you'll get to see all of the Hunger Games characters we know and love (well, at least, lots of them XD ), putting their own spin on the much-loved plot of the other book (and, no, it's not Harry Potter. Or Twilight.) Please please please, if you like my other stories, come check it out. I will put an update on my profile when I post the first chapter- and, of course, for those of you who have me on author alert, the story will show up there. Even if you don't like crossovers in general, I'm hoping you'll at least give it a chance****.**

**And, one more time, if you haven't seen the Catching Fire International Trailer yet, GO SEE IT NOW. Seriously.**

**That is all. Ta ta for now, my lovely readers! And, thank you again!**


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